Infighting
by ch-ch-ch-ch-cherry bomb
Summary: A year after returning with a body of his own, filled with unsuccessful attempts at redemption, Bakura is greeted with a chance to be forgiven in the eyes of his former host. A girl thought dead returns,and forces the two to interact. AU, Post Series.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: "The only thing inevitable about life is constant change. People change, the world changes; a solitary action can define a lifetime. Without warning everything you know, or thought you knew, can be altered so completely, so irreversibly in one single, breathtaking moment. It is simply the reactions to change that those of us mere mortals can do anything about."**

**Three years after Memory World, the Spirits have been returned to the modern world with no idea how or why they are there. After a year of unsuccessful attempts at redemption, Bakura is greeted with a chance to be forgiven in the eyes of his former host in the most unexpected of ways. A young girl who Ryou had long thought was dead returns, and as a result, forces interaction between the two opposites. Can Amane's influence lead her brother to forgive his opposite? Or will Bakura be destined for a life of modern loneliness, cut off from his only tie to the world he's been returned to? Minor hints at tendershipping (but only if you look for them). Rated for language and mentions of violence.  
**

**Disclaimer: Nothing here is in any way written for profit on the part of the author. Simply enjoyment. I claim no ownership of Yu-Gi-Oh, its characters, or its plot line. I only own my idea. **

**Chapter Playlist (for those interested): **

1. Please be Patient with Me - Wilco  
2. Long Division - Death Cab for Cutie  
3. Hourglass - The Hush Sound  
4. Poor Places - Wilco  
5. Either Way - Wilco

_**Chapter One**_

It was raining. No, not just raining. Rain did not adequately capture the pure _evil_ of the freezing water droplets plummeting from the sky to crash painfully onto the head of one Bakura Touzukuo. It needed a newer, more offensive name... but he wasn't feeling particularly creative anyways. Bakura felt himself scowling as he thought over this idiotic rain. It happened too much here in Domino City for his taste. When he was a child rain was a _blessing_. It came so rarely in the desert that everyone had the opportunity to thoroughly enjoy an unexpected downpour. But here? Bakura had become far too familiar with this horrid phenomenon that was rain.

Bakura's life was so drastically different now, and rain seemed to be the unfortunate symbol of these changes. He had his own body, for starters. It had happened about a year ago, though the details were fuzzy at best. Last thing that Bakura could recall was that bastard Pharaoh (_Atemu _was it now?) destroying him along with Zorc (he had sort of _been_ Zorc at the time, in truth)... and then nothing until the day he awoke to find himself face down in the grass of a children's play park, wearing the last modern outfit he'd donned with a screaming headache. Head swimming, Bakura had attempted to make sense of things, but only succeeded in watching the hazy image of a young man with honestly absurd tri-colored hair sprint out of the park (it had taken his aching head a full minute to comprehend that the strange teen was probably the returned Pharaoh). Bakura had not felt like sprinting after him, he recalled; in fact, he had been fairly certain that the headache he'd been suffering was his eternal punishment for his crimes. Eventually recovering from the horrors of his aching head, he'd succeeded in acquiring the date -exactly three years since his trip to Egypt in his former host's body. He had no explanation for how he'd gotten there.

That had been a year ago. Bakura still had no idea as to how or why he was back on Earth, but he had been subjected to all sorts of earthly annoyances in the present day. Gone were the days of Bakura's dulled senses due to Zorc's influence. Instead, he'd been slowly but surely rediscovering the pieces of humanity he'd missed out on while controlling the body of his former host. Such as navigating the strange foods that modern people subjected themselves to, and the cursed _rain. _But worst of all, without a demonic spirit inhabiting the better portion of his soul, Bakura had been unfortunately reintroduced to the broad spectrum of human emotion. This he found exceptionally irritating, as now he would find himself constantly bombarded with all of these meddlesome _feelings_...  
In the past year, Bakura had changed, though you'd never get him to admit it. It wasn't drastic by any means, but it was there. Under the guidance of Malik, Bakura had grown bit by bit into what could be considered conventionally human. He was no longer so cold and callous... not that many people dared to get close enough to debate this statement. Hell, he'd even tried to make up for some of his past wrong-doings. He'd apologized - actually _apologized- _to his hikari for his behavior as an inhabitant of both the Millennium Ring and the boy's mind. However, Mutou and his disciples were not nearly as forgiving as the rest of the world made them out to be, and he was avoided by the group like a plague. Ryou had followed their example without question. So, he was generally avoided by the only people he knew of in the modern world. Well, by all except Malik, who would contact him from time to time due to their history during Battle City and was never unfriendly to Bakura. Something about him deserving a second chance or some other bullshit of that nature.

_Fuck_, where was he? Being easily distracted was another consequence of his new found humanity.  
Oh yes... Bakura had tried his best to right his wrongs, but when all was said and done, the boy had asked him to -well, more like demanded- that Bakura leave him alone. So, he had. Or at the very least Bakura had tried to avoid his hikari... running into him from time to time was unfortunately unavoidable. Bakura scowled. Ra, he needed to quit calling him that. _Hikari_. The boy wasn't his light anymore; he wasn't his anything anymore for that matter. Just a figure from his past that refused to be anyway involved in his future. Yet Bakura could not seem to break himself of the habit of calling _Ryou _(ha! There, he'd said it!) 'his hikari.'  
At any rate, despite the history of the past year, Bakura was walking through the slick, rain soaked streets of Domino City. It was an unseasonably cold day, and the rain was coming down in torrents, freezing water soaking him despite his precautionary outerwear -his characteristic black trench coat. Bakura scowled deeper. He _really _hated the rain. Especially on days like these, where it made the outdoors entirely unbearable. And when the outdoors were a hostile place where you could find yourself struck down by a bolt of lightning, it forced Bakura to retire to the indoors. Which, to be frank, he was beginning to hate even more than the rain. Because for Bakura, indoors in modern Domino meant his one bedroom _closet_ of an apartment, which other than the ancient spirit who haunted through it, was barren of all human influence. He frowned now. The rain was not letting up anytime soon, which had sealed his fate. Off to the the apartment that he could not bring himself to call home it was.

So, there Bakura was, trudging back to his far from homey apartment from his pathetic job -he laughed as he pictured the reaction of the Pharaoh and Pals finding out he actually had a job- at a call center for a company he didn't care about, making intentionally irritating phone calls to people he _really_ didn't care about. And his night would likely prove uneventful as he paced his cramped living space, refusing to admit to himself that he was actually praying to every deity he'd ever heard of for his phone to ring in the form of a distraction, no matter how mundane.  
Now, _that _was pathetic. Bakura stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket, bowing his head as the wind picked up and threw more freezing water droplets at his unprotected head painfully. The rain seemed hell bent on invading the few parts of his body that remained dry, robbing him of what little warmth he had.  
_Heh._ Robbing the former King of Thieves... laughable. But Bakura's smile faded as the word "former" rang through his mind. Ra, he was so disgustingly _pathetic_ these days. Since he'd returned to the mortal world last year, petty acts of thievery had lost their appeal to him. His faced morphed into a frown when he recalled Malik's insistence that Bakura had only given up stealing in the hope to somehow prove to Ryou that he'd changed. But the former -he flinched, Ra he was pathetic- thief had denied this completely, refusing to admit that there was any truth in that because _damn it_ he was not that _pathetic_.

It had not occurred to Bakura that he was not paying attention to where he was walking, until a white-haired someone crashed headlong into him and knocked him out of his musings. His arms instinctively -he was unaware that he even had that instinct anymore- steadied this person. Looking down at them, Bakura felt his mouth drop open in surprise. But before he could confirm that it even _was _his hikar- Damn it, no- that it was Ryou, they had torn off in the opposite direction. Feeling exceptionally frustrated, and somewhat annoyed that whoever they were, Ryou or not, hadn't bothered to acknowledge that they'd slammed into him, Bakura made a split second decision and ran off after this person. He heard himself shout, "Hey!" but did not allow any other words to pass his lips, as he didn't want to chase this person off if it really was his hikar- _Fuck-_ if it was Ryou.

Potentially-Ryou had sprinted into an alleyway just off of the main pedestrian path. Skidding to a stop as he rounded the corner, Bakura halted as he took in the sight of the alley. It was devoid of all life, unless the unseen vermin milling about counted. Bewildered, the former spirit of the Millennium Ring whipped his head around, searching the alley for any signs of movement. _Where the hell was he? _As if to provide an answer to his question, Bakura's attention was drawn to the soft _whoosh _of rushing air as someone jumped from a height above him. But before he even had a chance to turn his head, Bakura felt a pair of surprisingly strong hands on him, one grabbing onto a chunk on his hair and forcing his face up, the other firmly pressing the cold steel of the edge of a knife into the flesh of his exposed neck. Not enough to break the skin, but enough to keep him still enough to prevent that. He inhaled sharply.

There was silence for a moment, broken suddenly by a single name piercing the air, a question to linger with the mist lingering around the pair in the alley: "Ryou?"  
And an instant later, twin answers: "No."  
His captor, whoever they were, made no move to release Bakura. "Who the _hell _are you?" growled the voice of his unnamed attacker. While undeniably a threatening voice, Bakura was far more interested in the fact that it was unquestionably _female_. And not only that, but it was also laced with an achingly familiar accent. This registered someplace in his memory, but he had no real time to linger over it because the girl yanked on his hair harder. "Who the hell are you, and why did you chase after me?"

Feeling bold, or perhaps suicidal (he didn't allow himself to actually give that thought much validity; now _that _would be pathetic), Bakura countered with a question of his own: "Why the hell did you run?"

The girl snarled, and Bakura forced down the urge to laugh. Whoever she was, that kind of feral noise did not suit her in the least. Another yank of the hair, knife pressing harder into his neck (Bakura noted that the blade had now officially sunk into his skin ever so slightly; he could smell the irony tang of his blood hitting the air), "Who the fuck are you?"

"Touzukuo..." He managed, finding it surprisingly more difficult than he would have initially thought to speak when somebody was constricting your airflow with a sharp metal object. He breathed through his nose, before amending his statement. "Bakura Touzukuo."

As if his name was the key to releasing him from her vice grip, the knife and hand were immediately removed. He stepped away her, giving himself a moment to compose himself and inspect the damage to his throat. Confirming that it was nothing more than a shallow cut, Bakura turned around to face the girl. For a second time he felt his mouth drop open. He could understand how from a distance he'd confused the girl for his hikari-no, damn it, no- for Ryou. She had the same pure white hair, worn long just like his. Her eyes were just as wide as Ryou's; doe-like, all full of innocence and compassion and other Ryou-like emotions and characteristics. But upon closer inspection, she was obviously not Ryou. Firstly, she was female. And as much shit as Bakura had given his-no! not hikari- had given Ryou about his feminine looks, this girl made it apparent that her male counterpart was certainly...male. Not to mention that she had a stud in her nose, which was something he suspected Ryou would have paled at the thought of doing. She wore tight fitting jeans, with a hole in one of the knees. Basic black sneakers. A black t-shirt, low-cut enough to confirm her gender. She wore a fitted leather jacket over her ensemble, and from her deceivingly delicate-looking fingers dangled what appeared to be a switchblade.

"And you would be?" Bakura found himself asking, though he felt that he somehow already knew the answer. There was something tugging at the back of his memory, indistinct but definitely there.  
The girl's eyes flashed, and she answered so quietly that if Bakura hadn't already suspected the answer he might not have thought he heard her correctly. "Amane. Amane Bakura."

"Fuck," Bakura breathed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey everyone! I hope you enjoy the second chapter. **

**Special thanks to Tet of 1999 for his knowledge of knives, boys, and beta reading this for me! He also suggested the title, so +9000 cool points for him.  
**

**Chapter 2 Playlist: **

1. The Futile - Say Anything  
2. Leave Me (Like You Found Me) - Wilco  
3. This is Fucking Ecstasy - Say Anything  
4. Impossible Germany - Wilco  
5. Pot Kettle Black - Wilco

* * *

There was an awkward moment of silence between the two white haired figures in the alley, both refusing to move despite the freezing rain that was pummeling them as they stood immobile. "Aren't you dead?" Bakura managed to force out finally, tactlessly after a violent chill had traveled up his spine.

"So I've been told," she said, her voice cold. The girl's brown eyes flashed dangerously, and Bakura suddenly remembered that she was still holding that knife (not that the weapon worried him much; he had one of his own hidden on his person if the need for it did arise). She sighed then, her defiant stance lessening. "Can I correctly assume that you know my brother?"  
Bakura could not fight the smirk that came to his face. _Know him?_ Of course he knew him. He knew the brat better than anyone else. He had seen the inner workings of his mind; the very fabric of his soul. He did not just know him; in fact it was a bit insulting to equate him to a mere acquaintance. But he was certain, yes quite certain, that Amane was dead. He had seen it in Ryou's memories countless time, a young girl in a hospital bed. Hooked to machines, the heart monitor flat lined. He had seen this, known this. Yet, this girl stood before him, claiming to be the dead sister of his former host. He stared for a moment, watching as she narrowed her eyes at him. Oh, right. She'd asked him a question. "Yes," Bakura answered at length. "I know Ryou."  
Amane nodded once, closing her knife and returning it to her pocket. "Sorry about your neck," she said, not sounding especially sorry at all. "It's just that, if you _were _Ryou, I wouldn't have wanted him to see me... At least, not like this. Not until I've showered and collected my thoughts so that I could convince him of the truth..." She trailed off. "So, I figured doing something out of character would have thrown him. Right?"

"I have my doubts he wouldn't have taken being threaten with a knife as well as I did," Bakura remarked, ignoring the edge of protectiveness for his -Jesus, Allah, _Ra_ what was wrong with him?- Ryou that he heard in his voice.

Amane shrugged. She was staring at him quite openly.

"What?" Bakura demanded, her large eyes making him feel uncomfortable.

"You're like... you look like him," She was saying. "But not. Alike, yet different. Like you're...opposites."

"Thank you...?" Bakura said, uneasy still. All he could see in his mind was Amane's brother. His hikari -oh, fuck, it was no use- Ryou had been completely devastated by her death. Death, for Ra's sake. There was no way... and yet, this girl looked just like Ryou (there! ha!). A bit rougher around the edges, but once he'd correctly placed her accent he knew. This girl wasn't faking. She was nobody but who she claimed to be. Amane was the real deal, Ryou's little sister inexplicably back from the dead. Bakura scrubbed a hand over his face. "What are you doing here, exactly?"

"I came to find Ryou," Amane replied. "I just wanted to take a little time to become more familiar with the city..." She looked so sad suddenly, the look of pain that crossed her face so goddamn familiar that Bakura felt as if somebody had punched him in the gut. "It's been ten years... and the whole time I'd thought _he _was dead. Oh buggering hell, everything in my life is so fucked up..." She ran a pale hand through her hair. God, she looked too much like her brother. It was making him... he felt bad for her. Bakura felt somehow compelled to help the girl, even though he would undoubtedly pay for it later should Ryou ever find out.

Bakura felt his lips moving in reaction to her words, but he didn't comprehend the words until nearly a full minute after he said them. "Do you have anyplace to stay?"

"What?" Amane snapped.

"Well, I'm guessing you haven't got anywhere to stay tonight... And if you're desperate, you could crash on my couch..." Bakura was saying, feeling more ridiculous than he'd ever thought possible. "I can make some calls... Get you in touch with Ryou."

"Really?" Amane said, a smile gracing her face for the first time. "Thank you..." She trailed off, eyes questioning.

"Just call me Bakura," He muttered. "C'mon," Bakura said, motioning for her to follow as they made the relatively short walk back to his apartment. He sighed. What the hell was he thinking? Bakura briefly considered, for the second time in the hour, if he was suicidal but simply unaware. Ryou was literally going to kill him when he found out that not only was his darker half associating with his precious little sister, but that he'd offered to allow her to spend the night at his place. Oh yes, his hikari was certainly going to slaughter him. Murder him. Rip him apart limb from limb, burn the pieces, scatter the ashes, and throw a giant party once he was finished. _Fuck. Fuck. Fucking fucker FUCK._

"So," Amane said, shattering Bakura's internal swearing rampage. "How do you know Ryou?"

Bakura blanched. _Well, you see, I'm actually a 3000 year old spirit who was housed in an ancient Egyptian artifact that your brother used to wear around his neck. From time to time I used to take control of his body in an ill-fated plot to bring about the end of the world. Needless to say, we're _great _friends. _"Uh, you'd best let him answer that when you see him," he finally settled on, "It's a long story." He turned, leading the girl into a bland looking apartment complex. Bakura lead Amane inside, muttering a quick explanation that he lived on the third floor. As they began mounting the stairs, Bakura added, "You know, if it wasn't unavoidable... I'd almost prefer if you didn't mention me much to Ryou."

"Hates you then?" Amane said, not sounding especially surprised. As if hid sweet, friendly hik- _Ryou _made a habit of hating people.

Bakura shrugged. "It's not like I don't deserve it." She raised an eyebrow, but he chose not to elaborate. Clearing his throat, he stopped outside of the door to his apartment, unlocking it and motioning for her to step inside. He sighed dramatically, giving her a quick overview of the small apartment's layout. Bakura ran a hand through his somewhat knotted hair. "The bathroom is through there," He said pointing to the door nearest her. "The linen closet is inside of it, if you need a towel or anything. And if you manage to find anything edible in the kitchen, feel free to take it." They stood awkwardly, Amane adjusting the bag she carried over her shoulder (he'd only just noticed the bag... how long had it been there?). "I have to make a phone call," he finished lamely, before quickly shutting himself into his bedroom, frantically dialing one the of three phone numbers he knew by heart.

Three rings later: "Kiss and make up with Ryou yet?" _Some greeting, Malik. _

"Fuck off, Ishtar," Bakura said irritably. "We have a situation on our hands."

"Oh?" Malik suddenly sounded interested.

Bakura explained the sudden appearance of Ryou's long dead sister,while changing out of his rain soaked clothes. He finished with, "And she's in the other room... so what the hell am I supposed to do?"

"If there's such a thing as karmic retribution..." Malik said, laughing quietly to himself. "I have no fucking clue what to tell you, 'Kura."

"You're no help!" Bakura cried, exasperated. "Where's all your wise, psychology knowledge now, huh? Normally you're full of _suggestions _for fixing the brat and I, and now you choose to keep your mouth shut! I just want to know how to handle this situation in a way that it doesn't end in m- in Ryou bludgeoning me to death with the nearest blunt object!"

Malik snorted. "Look, I haven't really got much advice for you. Just call him. Say you need to see him."

"He'll hang up on me," Bakura protested, aware that it sounded like he was whining. And he _was _whining. This pissed him off, but it wasn't nearly as important as fixing the problem that had run headlong into him this evening.

"So threaten to stab some innocent bystanders or something," Malik said conversationally. "It doesn't matter so much as to how you get him there, just that you do. And once he sees that you've reunited him with his long lost sister, he'll have no choice-"

"Not now, Ishtar. We both know that nothing I could do will make him forgive me..."

" -but to forgive you-" Malik pushed on. For some reason unknown to Bakura, Malik was convinced that he could get Bakura and Ryou to reconcile. Bakura suspected that it might have had to do with

Malik's own stubborn refusal to meet up with Mariku, and that fixing up the relationship with another light and dark would somehow make that more bearable.  
"Good bye, Malik-"

"And then you won't be pariah anymore! We could even been seen with you in public without later interrogation-"

"Good _bye, _Malik," Bakura repeated, clicking off the phone. He stared at it until the screen faded to black, before announcing to the room at large: "Fuck." What the hell was he supposed to do now? He closed his henna-colored eyes, resting his head against his white-washed wall. From the bathroom down the hall he heard the shower running. He was still trying to figure out his impulsive decision to take this girl in. He ignored the nagging feeling in his head that perhaps he had just done something nice for Ryou and his remaining family, instead opting to conclude that it was only because the girl had looked so sad in that alleyway when she mentioned thinking Ryou was dead.

This struck Bakura as odd. How the hell had these two siblings walked around for a decade thinking that the other was dead? Didn't modern medicine have ways of determining for sure whether of not a person was dead? This confusion perplexed him greatly. He walked out into his small, mostly bare living room. Other than the rather warn couch, the desk in the corner that remained largely unused, and the television, the room was empty. Certainly no signs that someone actually lived there. He took a seat on the worn sofa, scrubbing a hand over his face. While Malik concocted his ridiculous fantasy what ended with a reconciliation and everyone living happily ever after, Bakura recognized that there was the reality of this situation with Ryou to be dealt with. Ryou would not take kindly to Bakura's involvement in this whole affair. Exactly six months ago, after one of their typical arguments over Bakura's attempts to make things right with his former host, Ryou had become so furious that he had physically thrown his yami out of his home.

_"Don't come back," Ryou had said, his voice steely and determined. "I don't ever want to see you again. Just..." and here he seemed to regain some of himself, acting not as the cold detached boy that Bakura had been growing used to in the past months, but the compassionate and sympathetic boy of the past. His eyes held a shred of sadness as his hand closed around the door handle. "Just go. Good bye."  
_

Bakura blinked himself out of the memory. That had been the last time he'd actually seen his hikari -there was no point in fighting it anymore, he was incapable of changing his name now- and he knew that his attempt to contact him would not be received well.

And then, the other side of this sibling equation. He had no idea how Amane had even gotten to Domino, let alone how she wanted or when she wanted to see Ryou again. Bakura didn't want to set up anything that the girl would protest to. It seemed that, unlike her brother, Amane was rather... strong willed. She struck him as the type who did things her way, and any deviation from that plan was going to be met with a lot of kicking and screaming... and a possible knife fight. Bakura allowed the ghost of a smile to play on his lips. Even without her connection to Ryou, he found himself already nursing a grudging fondness for the little whitenette. It wasn't every day that someone had the guts to pull a knife on _him_, after all. If nothing else, she'd earned his respect with that little stunt... Bakura raised a hand to his throat, suddenly remembering his injury. It seemed to have stopped bleeding; nothing to be concerned about.

The bathroom door opened then, steam billowing out as Amane took a step outside of it. Her white hair was wrapped in a towel, revealing to Bakura's eyes three silver hoops in her left ear, as well as a stud in the earlobe. She wore a plain white t-shirt now, and a faded pair of jeans... this pair also torn at the knee. Her bare feet showed toenails painted black. She sighed, releasing her dripping hair from the towel. "Thank you," Amane said to Bakura, somehow sheepish. "For letting me stay here..." She cleared her throat at the awkward silence that followed, giving him a once over like he'd done her. His white hair, so like her own, gave off the impression of being neglected and knotty. His eyes were strange; a mixture of red and brown... And they peered at her with a kind of guarded curiosity. His whole posture seemed to imply aloofness, though she assumed that many could misconstrue this for a sense of arrogance. His clothes were different now, Amane noticed. A pair of dark blue jeans with a pale blue t-shirt. She flinched when she saw the cut on his neck; about three inches long, it stood, red and obvious, parallel to his chin, against the white skin of his throat. _Shit.  
_

Bakura shrugged in response to her gratitude. He realized, with an uncomfortable pang, that nobody had thanked him for anything in quite some time. "So..." He said after they stood staring for a while. "Earlier, you said you'd thought Ryou was dead..." He'd never been good with moments of awkwardness, and he couldn't deny his overwhelming curiosity. Bakura's default setting appeared to be bluntness to the point of near cruelty.

Amane nodded, pressing her lips into a thin line. "Mind if I sit? This story could take a bit..." He nodded, and she took a seat on the arm of the sofa. "Well, I guess the best place to start is the beginning, right?" At Bakura's nod, she took a deep breath. "Okay. Well, as I'm sure you know... or at the very least can tell... Ryou and I grew up in Britain. Mum's a native Brit, Dad's family relocated from Japan when he was a kid. So, that's the story behind our non-traditionally English names if you were curious. Anyways, they got married. Had Ryou, and then me two years later. We were pretty close as kids, Ryou and I; our house wasn't really close to any neighborhoods with kids our age. Anyways, when I was five, our Mum died. Some deadly infection or something. Our dad was totally devastated, and rather than take on the responsibility of raising his two kids, he withdrew into his work. Requested longer digs in places farther and farther away from home. He started leaving us with our grandmother whenever he was gone. My mother's mother, to be exact.

"Anyways, Gran was and my mum had been close, and mum's death really hit her hard. But she took Ryou and I in, and she did a pretty fair job being on her own and all. But..."

"But?" Bakura asked, sensing that the kindly grandmother was about to turn into a somehow less sympathetic character.

"But, Gran always favored me. I think because I reminded her of Mum. My whole family called me Amane, but Gran insisted on calling me Amy... Which is what my mum had originally wanted to call me. She always do things for me; buy me little extra gifts, sneak a sweet in my lunch for school... but I knew it was unfair. Ryou didn't get any special treatment. Anyways, whenever my dad came back home, Gran was always reluctant to let me stay with him. She'd send Ryou off without a backward glance, but was always less than eager to let me return to my home with him. More than once they argued over it, my dad and Gran. I didn't really understand; I was only about seven when it started. So, I never really suspected that anything was wrong..." She paused, rubbing her eyes.

"Anyways, not long after my eighth birthday, Ryou and I attended a friend's birthday picnic. It had started to rain, ruining the party, so the mothers in attendance decided they would take all of the children home. So, we were loaded into cars and drove off. But the rain got so heavy, it made it hard to see. One of the cars swerved. The others crashed into it... About five cars total. Several ambulances were called. Kids were taken to three different hospitals in all the mess... Ryou and I were separated," Amane said, clearing her voice as some emotion leaked into her tale. go to

"The next thing I remember was waking up in a hospital, nearly three weeks later. I'd been in a coma," She said, her voice quieter. "And my gran told me that Ryou hadn't survived the crash. I was crushed... The doctors said my recovery went unmistakeably slower after I knew. It took me nearly a year to be able to walk again. It was a terrible time, and to top it off... Dad quit calling. He stopped writing. It was just me and Gran from then on... and it went less than smoothly, tell the truth. She decided that she would be my mother then. I didn't take well to it; from the time I was ten it was nothing but fights. She wasn't my mother, I'd insist, my mother was in Heaven with my brother and she was nothing more than a bossy grandparent. This pissed her off to no end, let me tell you. She became overbearing and strict. I suddenly found myself barred from leaving the house except to attend school. I could never see friends, never attend dances or parties. I started rebelling around thirteen...I'd suffered a lot of emotional issues as adolescence hit. And, like a stupid kid, I ignored them. Figured that my past trauma was reason enough... I started to do things to purposely piss off my gran." At this she smirked, pointing to the piercings in her ear, "These never ceased to rile her up." Amane laughed, a barking humorless laugh.

"At sixteen I ran away from home. I got myself emancipated and moved to London on my own. It wasn't easy, trying to make it on the money of a part-time job as a waitress while I finished school. I just needed to complete my A Levels, and then I could take time to work and save money to go to University. But it was hard... I fell in with a pretty bad crowd, selling drugs to keep myself afloat. And eventually _using_ the drugs, to balance me out. I dropped out of school, I lost the place I rented, and did a lot of things I am not proud of while I was out on the streets. Eventually, I was hospitalized after I got into a pretty bad fight with four thugs..."

"Four?" Bakura repeated in disbelief. This Amane might have been tougher than a lot of girls her age, but her skinny frame was not going to win her any fights even with that knife of hers, especially when she was so outnumbered.

"Yeah, I was stupid to piss them off. Mushrooms do stupid things to your mind, I thought I was invincible. My damaged ribs and concussion were a decent reminder for a time of just how mortal I am," She said with a shrug. "Anyways, the hospital called Gran. And she took me home, nursed be back to health... I detoxed, which was painful. Gran was surprisingly kind, giving me a lot of space and rarely ever enforcing anymore rules that would keep me from having a life outside her house. After I finished school this passed summer, Gran told me that she was very sick. Cancer. She didn't have a lot of time..." Amane struggled to keep her voice calm now. "And then she told me she had to _'confess her sin'_ to me...

"My gran told me that, after ten years of thinking otherwise, Ryou was still alive. He'd survived the crash all those years ago with nothing more than a few stitches and a broken arm. But he'd been taken to another hospital, and she couldn't bear to leave my side should I wake from the coma. So, my father was called to collect Ryou. And when he called my grandmother about me... She lied to him. Claimed that I had died in the crash. He was distraught, so much so that he didn't even want to see me. He asked my grandmother to arrange a funeral that he would not attend. My gran, feigning her own distress, begged him to take Ryou with him when he returned to work. Said that he reminded her too much of me, and that she would be unable to care for him any longer. So, my father took my brother and left England without a backward glance.

"And I woke up two days later, only to be told by my manipulative grandmother that my brother had died. And she allowed me to think this for ten years, claiming that she couldn't bring herself to love Ryou. Ryou wasn't enough like my mother to be worthy of her love, she'd said. Just me. Just me, just her little weak Amy..."  
"So, upon hearing this, I demanded to know where my brother was. Gran claimed that he and my father had moved around a lot, something about trouble being caused wherever Ryou attended school, but that the last place she recalled them moving to was a place called Domino City. So, I left her. I got on the first plane out of London... and here I am." Amane looked up at Bakura, attempting to gauge his reaction.

"Shit," Bakura muttered. "That is so... sickening. Who does that to people?" But even as the words left his mouth, Bakura knew he'd seen worse. _Done_ worse. Much much worse... Yet this girl, this vulnerable, innocent-looking girl had gone through such horrors at the hands of her own family. And this made him angry, so desperate to just do something to help her.

And that urge made him confused. Since when was he _compassionate?_

Amane shrugged. "So, I'm looking for my brother Ryou. And you know him. You can help me, right?"

"Yes," Bakura said, a familiar feeling of uneasiness settling over him as the conversation turned to her brother. "It won't be easy... You can't exactly just call him. He wouldn't believe it. He'd think it was some kind of a joke, or convince himself he's crazy."

"I know," Amane whispered, running a hand through her still-damp white locks. "Fuck..."

"But I can try and arrange it for him to see you face to face," Bakura said quickly, desperate to keep the look of defeat off of her face. "He'd likely take it better that way."

Amane nodded, yawning.

"Why don't you get some sleep...?" Bakura said, unsure if the words would come out sounding right. Amane just looked exhausted, and something in him, some weird feeling of protectiveness that he hadn't felt since his own childhood back in Egypt when he'd had a little sister of his own, told him that suggesting sleep would be a wise choice. She nodded a second time. Bakura stood, leaving and returning with the extra bedding he kept in the linen closet without a word. "Good night..." Bakura said, still feeling strange.

"Night..."

Bakura walked into his room, flipping on the lights. He cursed to himself for a good moment, reliving moments of Amane's story. He just could not understand how family could do that family. Granted, having lost his family when he was barely eight, he didn't have a clear picture of a healthy functioning family in his head. He sighed and then pulled his small mobile phone from his pocket for the second time that night. He dialed one of the other three numbers he knew. The phone lines crackled, and the first ring trilled.

"Hello?" Came Ryou's pleasant voice. He sounded untroubled, Bakura noted. He felt a moment of guilt when he realized it was all about to change. He was going to invade Ryou's life again, mucking things up, and causing him to hate him even more.

"Hikari, I-"

And the line went dead.

Growling, Bakura hit redial.

One ring.

Two rings.

Three....

And then finally, "What the hell do you want?"

Bakura rolled his eyes at the unsuccessful attempt on Ryou's part to sound threatening. Even though Ryou was hardly the meek, quiet boy he'd been when Bakura had inhabited the Millennium Ring, he still failed to be able to pull off threatening. "I need to talk to you. In person."

"Too bad," Ryou responded, angry. "I told you to stay away from me."

"And I have, and will continue to do so after tomorrow if you wish," Bakura said plainly. "It is important."

"Look, I am not helping you. Sorry, call someone else."

Sighing internally, Bakura recalled Malik's suggestion to threaten someone. Doing his best to impersonate the threatening tone he'd conditioned Ryou to fear during his time residing in the boy's body (he had to regretfully admit to himself months ago that the level of malice in that voice was mostly Zorc's doing. He could muster up a decent growl, but it didn't have quite the effect that it used to), "If you don't agree to meet with me tomorrow, you're little group of friends will start to 'disappear' one by one," Bakura let the (empty) threat hang in the air for a moment. "Starting with the blond brute and working my way down to the Pharaoh's light."

There was silence on the other line, nothing but the crackle of patchy cell service in this area to indicate that Ryou hadn't hung up a second time.

"Hikari?" _Goddamn this voice needs work, _Bakura thought irritably. _This couldn't scare _children_. _

"Don't call me that," Ryou snapped, obviously irritated. He seemed to be debating Bakura's seriousness in these threats. It was obvious he had erred on the side of caution when he responded, voice icy, "Fine, I'll meet with you. At my place. Be there at three, and make it worth my time." He hung up.

_Fucking fucker fuck. _

* * *

Thank you so much for reading! Please review!


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey there, my darling readers. I just wanted to say thank you to all of you who have reviewed the last two chapters! :) And, thank you as always to Tet of 1999 for being my beta and source of knowledge on many many things. :D  
**

**Anyways, here is the playlist for Chapter Three:**

1**. **The Writhing South -Say Anything  
2. Invisible Cities - NOMO  
3. Woe - Say Anything  
4. Magnolia - The Hush Sound  
5. Without a Light- Plushgun

**Enjoy!**

**Chapter Three  
**

_I hurt. _

_Of all the things to think upon waking up, this was it. I hurt. My chest hurt, my hands hurt, my eyes burned. I curled into a ball, convincing myself that crying was useless and going to get me nowhere. But then I opened my eyes to the blinding lights of the desert sky, and it was all I could do not to just fall apart.  
_

_Gone. All of it. Everything, everyone I loved. Everyone I knew. Gone.  
_

_My mother, my sister... the whole of Kul Elna had been wiped out in mere hours.  
_

_Nowhere to go. I panicked, breathing hard. Chest hurt worse... Couldn't stop coughing, coughing up the soot and smoke of my burning home. Panic. Couldn't breathe.  
_

_Coughing. It hurt.  
_

_Blood. I coughed blood. Remember the blow to the abdomen and chest when the man tried to keep me from running.  
_

_Blood. Pain. _

_ Coughing. Blood, soot. _

_ Tears. My eyes burned.  
_

_I wanted my mother. I wanted to wake up from this nightmare to have her scold me for my over-active imagination and tell me to get to my chores. I closed my eyes, opened them again. The scene remained unaltered. My eyes burned.  
_

_Alone. I was alone.  
_

_The panicking got worse; the coughing increased. I felt sick. So much blood.  
_

_Alone alone alone.  
_

_Surely I would die. _

_ Die.  
_

_Oh no no no no...  
_

_They were dead. Just like that. I'd gone to sleep, woken to screams, and the whole world had collapsed in a fiery whirlwind of disaster.  
_

_They were dead. My mother was dead. Gone.  
_

_Alone alone alone.  
_

_My sobs quieted in time, because it hurt too much to cry anymore. I pulled my knees to my chest, arms wrapped around them.  
_

_Blisters... My arms were covered in burns and blisters from the fire that destroyed the village. It hurt. I hurt.  
_

_Pain... So much pain... My chest hurt, it hurt to breathe. I could not breathe!  
_

_I was drowning on air!  
_

_On soot.  
_

_On the blood, spat on the gleaming white sand.  
_

_Where was my mother? Why didn't she comfort me? I needed her to make the pain stop! She always... she couldn't be... where _was _she? Why did she leave me in such pain? What had I done? I'd tried to be good! I had!  
_

_Where was mother?_

_ Deaddeaddead.  
_

_She was dead. Gone.  
_

_Gone. Gone. Gone.  
_

_My sister.  
_

_Oh Ra, no not my little sister. She'd just learned to walk! She'd toddled over to me and gurgled her first words and she had just learned to walk and who was going to care for her and where was she and not her too oh Ra not her too she'd just learned to walk and I want my mother where is my mother I wanted my mother mother Oh Ra, oh God, oh no no no no no no...  
_

_The tears came so fast that I couldn't even resist them. Dead. Alone. Alone. Dead.  
_

_Gone. _

_ There was nothing where my village had once stood.  
_

_Nothing. _

_ Gone.  
_

_Dead.  
_

_Alone alone alone.  
_

_I was dead, I decided, I was dead and I'd been terrible and I couldn't get into the afterlife with the rest of my family. What had I done? Could I fix it? I'd never steal alone thing in my life it was only because we'd been desperate and my baby sister had been starving and mother had been too proud and it was only enough to feed them for a day, I didn't even take any, and I'm sorry. Oh Please. Please please please. I'm sorry. I'll be good, I promise. I'll be good.  
_

_Just don't let this be real.  
_

_This couldn't be real.  
_

_It couldn't be happening.  
_

_They couldn't be gone.  
_

_She'd just learned to _walk.

_Where is mother? Why didn't she come when I cried? Why? _

_Oh no oh no oh no...  
_

_Dead dead dead. Gone forever.  
_

_Alone alone alone.  
_

_What was I going to do?_

Bakura awoke with a start, sitting straight up in his modern bed, in modern clothes, as far away from the ancient sands of Egypt as he could possibly be. His t-shirt was twisted around his chest uncomfortably; his skin damp with a cold sweat. Bakura pulled his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around himself. No blisters, he confirmed, allowing his head to rest on his arms. _Nothing more than a dream, _Bakura thought to himself as he listened to his racing heart rate begin to slow incrementally.

Since his arrival in the modern world with a body and mind all to himself for the first time in millenniums, these nightmares of the massacre and aftermath at Kul Elna were hardly uncommon. But they always caused Bakura to wake so suddenly, the images burning themselves into his brain so real that he always had to confirm that he wasn't actually there. Warily, Bakura turned his attention to his clock. _4:19. _Knowing himself well enough to see that sleep was officially out of the question now, Bakura straightened. Climbing out of his bed, he irritably yanked his damp t-shirt back into its place. Glancing down at his legs, he realized he'd slept in his jeans again. Imagining the lectures Malik had given on the "wonders of proper pajamas" back during his first few weeks on Earth (when Malik had been kind enough to take him in due to his non-existence at the time), Bakura smiled slightly to himself. Modern people were all too concerned about what they slept in, in his opinion. He also recalled his hikari's -oh fucker, another day of battling this habit?- Ryou's complaints of allowing their body to rest on the lumpy couch in their school uniform, claiming it left him uncomfortable for days after.

Sighing to himself, Bakura slipped quietly out of his bedroom. He greeted with the sight of Amane Bakura sprawled out on his couch, hair in complete disarray, blankets keeping her face hidden. Her breathing was slow and deep; she was undoubtedly fast asleep. Keeping extra care to be quiet, Bakura strode to the small kitchen where he opened the fridge. As he had suspected, it held nothing but a bag of ground coffee and the ring stain of something sticky he'd once kept in there. The cupboards proved equally as barren, and he didn't even bother to check the freezer. Frozen with indecision, Bakura decided that a trip to the 24 Market a few streets over was necessary... He didn't want to hear from Ryou at some point that he'd been attempting to starve precious Amane, after all.

_What if the girl wakes up?_

The thought interrupted his trek to the door. _Shit. _Sighing to himself, he grabbed the first thing that resembled paper (an old grease stained take out menu that he hadn't made use of in ages) and a pen, scribbling a quick note.

_Amane,  
_

He paused. What the hell was he even doing? It was only 4:30 in the morning; he would be back long before she woke up. He was being stupid.  
_You left her alone in that apartment of yours in the middle of the night? _Bakura's mind was doing an impeccable impersonation of Ryou's panicked (and also undeniably upset) voice. Scowling to himself, he decided to placate the voice of Ryou that had infiltrated his mind.

_Amane,  
_

_Stepped out to get food. Call me if you need anything.  
_

Bakura left the note unsigned, assuming Amane was bright enough to guess who would be leaving her notes in his apartment. He scribbled his mobile number at the bottom of the message, and tossed the menu-turned-note on the coffee table next to the couch. Grabbing his keys and wallet, he donned his trench coat and pocketed the items.

Bakura closed and locked the door quietly behind him, descending the stairs quickly and bursting into the dark stillness of the early morning. The evidence of yesterday's rain could be seen in the puddles littering the streets and sidewalks. Bakura hated the rain even more for leaving its fingerprints all over the city. What kind of stupid criminal did that?

Bakura had to admit that he was quite proud of himself for remaining distracted for about half an hour now. Not once had he rehashed the events of his dream (memory?). Instead he stayed focused on the task ahead of him. And this task was to determine what sort of foods a girl in this modern age would eat for breakfast, and potentially lunch, and then acquire such foods, and ultimately avoid this particular instance that Ryou could get upset with him over...

Then again, Ryou could still find excuses to get upset with him. Undercooked food, hell, Bakura wouldn't be surprised if the boy accused him of attempting to poison someone. Then again, he _had _threatened the lives of his friends only hours before. Not that it wasn't with good reason that he'd made those threats; there was literally no other way to insure that his- no, damn it, no- that Ryou would agree to see him. Bakura scowled. It was times like these that he thought he'd liked it better when the boy was meek and quiet. It had been much easier to deal with him then, none of this hatred nonsense. Simply do this, say this, no questions, or you'll pay.

Granted, Bakura could conclude that this might be precisely _why _the boy hated him.

With a look of extreme displeasure plastered on his face, Bakura entered the 24 market. The music drifting from the speaker system grated on his ears immediately; little sleep didn't exactly make him appreciate the sounds of smooth jazz any more than he did when he'd had a full eight hours of rest. He disliked it well rested; it was pure _torture_ on his ears when he wasn't. Whoever invented that awful music anyways? Bakura was certain that he absolutely loathed the saxophone after less than 30 seconds of the music pumping through the speakers of the store. The florescent lights stung his eyes, and Bakura felt the dull pain of a headache begin to bloom near his temples.

Why the hell was he doing this again? The girl was -he did some math in his head, which went slowly due to his current sluggishness- at least 18 years old. She could fend for herself when it came to breakfast, for Ra's sake. She'd admitted to living on the streets only a year ago. Yes, she could definitely get her own _fucking_ breakfast.

Just as he was about to turn around, go back to his apartment and destroy the evidence of the note he'd left, Bakura was struck with a feeling of... shame?

_Goddamn _these motherfucking _emotions _he was being subjected to! It was maddening for Bakura to be carrying about his business and suddenly feel bad for what he was doing or had done. If he ever got his hands on any type of magic again, the emotions were the first things to go. He didn't care what Malik said about his 'personal growth' or whatever bullshit psycho-babble terminology he'd used; emotions were entirely bothersome and Bakura would give them up in a heart beat. They'd go alright, if for no other reason than to do away with the irksome feeling of guilt that was pooling in his stomach whenever he thought of his hikari or, as of a few moments ago, the brat's sister.

It just made him want to _kill_ something.

...But that made him feel guilty too.

Cracking his knuckles to relieve the sudden rage that had just built inside of him (and apparently frightening the elderly man who appeared to be doing his shopping at this ungodly hour as well, because the small old man scurried off looking worried), Bakura picked up one of those baskets for groceries and set off to decode the mysterious phenomenon that was the modern concept of breakfast. It didn't take Bakura long to determine that he was wholly against this idea of breakfast. It all seemed too complicated. Why were there so many different kinds of foods? Specifically, why did the box of cereal with the plain yellow background seem so bland and unappealing, versus the one with the cartoon bee on it, that looked delicious? And, to make it more confusing, both boxes had the same name branded in large letters across the front. What was the difference? Did it matter? Why the hell was he considering these cereals so seriously?

After careful study of the pictures on the backs of cereal containers (all showing a "balanced breakfast," whatever the hell that was) and racking his memory for foods his light (Ryou, _Ryou_, his fucking name is RYOU) had preferred, Bakura settled on some eggs, a box of sugary (peculiarly shaped) cereal, sausage (this one was more for himself, to be honest), milk (with a blue top, because he liked the blue better than the pink) and bread to put in that contraption that toasted things that Malik had bought for him as a "house warming gift" when he'd moved into his own apartment... a toaster? That sounded right. He wasn't sure if he'd always not been certain of a toaster's name, or if he'd had trouble remembering because it was 5 AM, and he had only managed to drift off at around 1:30. It wasn't a particularly clever name for such a contraption, Bakura mused. It deserved something that more adequately captured its amazing ability to... toast things.

Ra, he needed to get some kind of stimulant in his system quickly before these tangents got anymore frequent.

After purchasing his findings, (the cashier at the register was entirely and unnecessarily rude, and Bakura decided that this particular pizza-faced brat would be among the first to go... just as soon as he managed to reestablish himself as capable of world domination -Moses, Jesus, Allah, and _Ra_, he needed coffee-) Bakura trudged back to his apartment, noting that the sky was beginning to get lighter, the black sky fading to grey in the east. Up the stairs, through the door, he quietly put his purchases into the fridge... even the cereal, because honestly, everything else had gone in there, and he didn't want to let it be left out (_what...?_ Lack sleep really fucked with his head). Bakura ran a hand through his knotted hair (perhaps someday he'd actually be bothered to comb it).

Bakura's eyes itched and burned from the lack of sleep. Those dreams always left him feeling so very strange. Like his humanity was simmering just under the cold exterior he typically projected, and these dreams caused the feelings to finally boil over. Bakura was almost always more distinctly distracted by his new -or at least they felt new- emotions just following those dreams. He took a seat at his kitchen table, his mind idly pondering if he could emulate his light's abilities in the kitchen. In the time since his return, Bakura had lived solely on take out and coffee, and the occasional experiments with his inadequately named toaster. Feeling a growing sense of concern at his sense of helplessness in front of the stove, Bakura attempted to turn his thoughts to what would make a better name for his toaster...

At some point Bakura must have fallen back to sleep seated at his table, because he was awoken to the smell of _...something _cooking and the sound of a cup of coffee being placed in front of him. Bleary-eyed, Bakura peered up at Amane who wore an amused look on her face. "Cereal doesn't need to go in the refrigerator, for the record," she said, turning back to the stove where things were...cooking. Or something. He didn't know how to use the stove. Too many knobs. Seemed like a waste of time to learn, especially when he considered that he could simply order food that came cooked already... Besides, learning to use the coffee maker had taken a good day of explanations from Malik who began to lose his patience after a few tries, and while regular telephones were simple enough, he still didn't know how to change the background of his cell phone back from the picture of the puppy that had come preloaded on the phone. The only things about modern technology he was entirely comfortable with as a being entirely separate from Ryou were computers and Duel Disks... and honestly, only the former was still a useful skill for him to have.

"How do you like your eggs, by the way?" Amane asked Bakura, distracting him from another half-asleep tangent.

"I..." Bakura was still having difficulties processing just what the hell was going on. Precisely, he wondered why he was waking at his kitchen table, and while his light's relative was using the aforementioned kitchen. "Cooked...?" This answer seemed wrong, but Bakura honestly had nothing better to give the sister of his hikari by way of an answer.

Amane turned, fixing him with a look of suspiciously curiosity. "You are exceptionally strange," She finally settled on. Amane turned back to the stove, flipping something. While she did this with one hand, the other inserted a slice of bread into the slot on the toaster. Bakura watched, almost mesmerized, as Amane continued to create a breakfast (eerily similar to the one on the back of that box with a cartoon bee) from the items he'd purchased so early that morning. She placed a plate in front of him, next to his untouched coffee. "I promise I didn't poison it," She said when Bakura made no move to touch his food. "I just figured it was the least I could do, since you let me stay here and all." He nodded dumbly, taking a sip of his coffee. He was met by another look from Amane.

"What?" Bakura said warily. Her eyes seemed to be critiquing everything he did, and it made him uneasy.

"You... most people put sugar or cream or both in coffee," Amane said after a time, her eyes laughing. She shook her head, clearly amused, "You'd think you dropped out of the sky without the instruction manual or something." She set herself down across from him with a plate of her own, and reaching into her bag, strung over the back of her chair, producing a small orange bottle of pills. Amane removed one, and swallowed it as if it were not anything remotely intereing. (Bakura found this odd, but said nothing.)"So, did you get in touch with him?"

"Yeah," Bakura responded, poking at his food a few times before daring to actually try it. "We're supposed to meet him at his apartment at three."

"We?" Amane repeated, sounding alarmed.

"Uhm, _I_ am," Bakura corrected, scowling at the beginnings of her overreaction. "I figured I'd give him something of a warning, then you could take over. Explain yourself."

Amane sighed. "We're fucked no matter how we approach it, so that sounds plan enough to me," she mumbled around a mouthful of toast. "He's not going to believe me."

"Not a chance," Bakura affirmed, ignoring the voice in the back of his head (which he noted sounded suspiciously like his hikari's) which told him his pessimism wasn't helping her any. "So, you better have some type of proof that he can't refute on hand."

"Yeah..." Amane said, sounding distracted. "So, what time did we need to be there again?"

"Three..."

"Well, I'd better get moving then. It's noon as it is, and I need to find myself a new pair of pants before I reunite with my appearance-conscious brother, lest he have a heart attack over the state of my trousers."

"Noon?" Bakura repeated in disbelief, as if none of her other words had stuck.

"Yeah, you were out on that table, and I didn't think you slept much last night... I could hear you tossing and turning through the walls," Amane said with a shrug, tugging on her leather jacket. "I'll be back shortly." And then she exited the apartment, leaving Bakura more than a little bewildered at what just happened.

* * *

There was a knock on the door.

Not the demanding, intimidating, scary-as-hell knock that Ryou had been expecting, however. In fact, if he didn't know better, he'd have thought that the person standing on the other side of his door was someone who resembled a human being, dropping by for a friendly chat. Or perhaps even something mundane, like alerting him that the building was on fire and he needed to head for the emergency exits quickly...

But Ryou _did _know better. He knew that the man on the other side of that door was his own personal nightmare. A being (he wasn't exactly sure that he could even bring himself to call that _thing _human) who had taken everything he'd had left and ruined it for him. Stolen everything from his mind, his body, and even his name. And then that Thief disappeared without a backward glance. He'd left Ryou to attempt to salvage a life in shambles in the wake of the destruction and chaos that marauder had caused, only to return three years later expecting a warm welcome.

What he'd found was a very angry 19-year-old Ryou, filled with hate directed at his former yami, and surprisingly unafraid to struggle for power in his own life. It had been a grueling six-month long battle between the two, with the Thief constantly trying to push his way into Ryou's life, prying and meddling and generally fucking with the white haired teen until Ryou finally had enough (following an incident where that disgusting pickpocket had contacted the father to whom Ryou never spoke, which had upset Ryou more than anything else the Thief had done since his return), and demanded that his former tenant _leave him the fuck alone already.  
_

Well, that wasn't exactly true, he admitted grudgingly to himself. Ryou hadn't been able to bring himself to be that cruel to the Thief, no matter how badly he wanted to. No matter how much that purloiner deserved it. Ryou just couldn't summon up the rage and hate at the time, and had instead opted for the more obtainable coldness he'd adopted to shield himself from the world's injustices, to stab words of ice into the place where his yami's heart should have been by telling him straight out that he never wanted to see him again.

Ryou sighed. Yet here they were, only half a year later, and the man stood on the other side of his door. Ryou didn't want to answer it, but the Thief had threatened to come after his friends if he didn't (though Ryou had noticed a certain lack of venom in the words threatening the lives of those he was close to, but he'd been so thrown off by the phone call he'd been unable to call forth the boldness that was required to deny the Thief).

Hating himself every step of the way, Ryou stomped over to his apartment's door and unlocked the deadbolt. Peering through the peephole, Ryou confirmed the truth. Outside of his door stood the Thief, arms folded across his chest and a look of annoyance pasted on that face that looked so much like, yet so unlike, Ryou's own face. Ryou was disgusted to notice that the Thief had chosen to continue wearing his long black trench coat, and memories of the flight to Egypt, hazy at best, right before the Memory World flitted across his consciousness.

He peered through the peep hole, prolonging the inevitable. Ryou could not keep out the pure anger that coursed through his veins when he looked at the Thief. He'd even stolen Ryou's appearance, and maintained this precious artifact in his return. His eyes were different, of course, from Ryou's. More red, more angry and spiteful, simply more evil. His hair was wilder, more unkempt, though it was the same color and length of Ryou's own. Same height, give or take nothing more than an inch. The Thief's body was somewhat less lanky and slight, with more muscles, yet this only fueled Ryou's outrage. He couldn't just be satisfied to steal Ryou's appearance, but he needed to alter it so that his former host's looked somehow inferior. Weaker. It infuriated him to no end to see this man waiting impatiently on the other side of the door.

Clenching his fists into tight balls, Ryou waited. He breathed deeply through his nose, convincing himself that there was no need to pummel the Thief once he waltzed through the door (not that he actually held the confidence in himself that he actually could). Ryou needed to simply get this meeting over with to ensure the safety of his friends and nothing more. Then, with any luck, he could finally put an end to the nonsense that was his contact with his yami.

Honestly disgusted with himself for being unable to uphold his stance that he wanted nothing but distance from that Thief, Ryou opened the door just wide enough to take in the other man's profile, confirming that his doppelganger stood beyond the slab of plywood and paint for a second time. "Well," Ryou said irritably, "What did you want?"

"Oh, it's nice to see you too, hikari," the Thief said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "These past six months have been quite nice, thank you ever so much for asking," he words prodded at Ryou's tendency to be a bit overly polite, and he did not miss this in the Thief's voice.

Ryou narrowed his eyes. "Fuck it, I'll just go directly to the police...Probably want me to help you hide a body or something, anyways..." He was saying, beginning to close the door. A pale arm struck out suddenly, preventing the door from closing. Ryou did his best to keep the worry from his face, hiding it behind a mask of coolness and calm. _Of course_, the Thief was a bit stronger. How had he forgotten?

"Hikari," the Thief growled, forcing the door open with a nudge of his shoulder. He strode into the kitchen as if he owned the place, which only fueled Ryou's anger toward him, making him hate the Thief even more (assuming that was even possible). "I do believe we had a deal regarding this little meeting. Wouldn't want your little friends to start suddenly...disappearing, now would we?"

"Don't call me that," Ryou spat, crossing his arms over his chest in an act of defiance. He sized up the Thief, debating what the best way to immobilize him would be if it came down to violence (and with the Thief, it nearly _always _came down to violence). "What the fuck do you want?"

"You shouldn't swear," The Thief said, smiling pleasantly. "It's unladylike."

"_Fuck _you," Ryou growled. Balling his fists tightly, he forced speech through clenched teeth, his cold exterior breaking, replaced by the sudden and strong fire of his hatred. "Tell me what you want," Ryou said, his voice suddenly low and almost threatening. "_Now._"

And then the Thief's smile vanished. He tilted his head slightly, as if confused or uncertain or worried, but Ryou knew it was a rouse because this man felt nothing of these thing and he only knew how to bring him pain and _what the fuck was he doing here? _"You're going to want to sit down," The Thief said at length, shoving his hands into the pockets of his (rather worn looking) jeans.

Ryou barked a short, humorless laugh. "Right, I'm sure," He said. "Because whatever it is you're about to confess to will upset my fragile self? Fuck that. Tell me. Right now."

"Suit yourself," said the Thief with a shrug, but his eyes still head the unidentified emotion that would have looked an awful lot like concern worn on any other face. While Ryou pondered the possible explanations for this phenomenon (he decided that the Thief was likely suffering from some type of organ failure, and entertained himself by picturing the man doubling over in pain as his kidneys failed), the Thief walked back to the door, ignoring Ryou's sputtering protests. "Amane? You want to come in here please?"

Ryou felt as if time had stopped. _No way. No fucking way._ There was no way he had heard what he thought he'd just heard. This was that Thief's idea of a sick joke. It made Ryou feel ill. He wanted to leap from his spot, rooted to the floor as he was, and just attack the other man. To hit every inch of him that he could get his hands on, rip out that hair in clumps. He wanted to tear the skin from that face to reveal the monster underneath, and show it to all those who doubted it. Ryou wanted to _kill_ him for even thinking...for even mentioning... This was sick, even by Bakura's -oh great, he'd even started using his own _stolen_ name for him- even by the Thief's usual standards. Just plain sick. "What the hell is wrong with you?" Ryou hissed, careful to keep the pain from his voice lest his former yami sense it and pounce.

But as the words hung in the air, into the neat and orderly little apartment stepped a young girl. About eighteen years old, she had Ryou's color white hair and his wide brown eyes. She was maybe two or three inches shorter than he was, existing on a thin, willowy frame. Ryou could not believe his eyes. She was what Amane would have looked like if she'd survived that crash over a decade ago. It made Ryou's stomach flip uncomfortably. How had the Thief done this? And why? What did he gain from this torture anyways? And, for all this, who on Earth was this girl?

The would-be Amane opened her mouth, and whispered in a voice that tugged at the edges of his memory constantly as similar to their mother's, "Big Brother... Ryou..."

"No," Ryou said, clapping his hands over his ears, shutting his eyes tight. "No, no, _no_." Ryou could not look at her, could not hear her. It hurt too much. Ryou forced his eyes shut, avoiding the sight of her and seeking out the monster. He looked at the Thief, eyes blazing with hate. "I hate you," He said, no venom in his voice. Simply sating a fact. His voice faltered on the next words,"What the fuck have I done to deserve this? Why are you doing this?"

"He's not doing anything, Ryou," Amane-but-_not_-Amane said, her voice drilling in his mind like a jagged screw made entirely of all the pain and hurt he'd ever felt in his short life. The voice brought such pain, such shadows of a lonely life, and she just wouldn't let him ignore it. "Listen, sit down. Let me explain."

"No," Ryou said, his voice shaking as all of the color drained from his already pale face. "No, I won't sit. This is sick. This isn't real." His fingers tangled themselves in his long hair, giving off the impression that he was beginning to become unhinged. "This isn't happening. I've finally snapped..." His mind was racing a mile a minute, attempting to rationalize the unbelievable images being presented to him. This was unreal. It could not be happening; it was _not_ happening. There was no way his dead little sister was standing in his kitchen with Bakura of all people. It was just.... It just couldn't...

"No," She said, closing the gap between them and grabbing him roughly by the shoulders. "Ryou, listen to me. I'm not dead. It was all a lie; Gran lied. To all of us. I'm here. No hoax, no bull shit. I'm _alive_, Ryou."

"Don't touch me," Ryou said, backing away as if she terrified him. This could not be happening. There was just no way that this girl could be Amane. Amane was dead, she'd died years ago and he'd finally started to move on -he'd finally stopped writing her letters- and now this. Who did this? Was this all some sick trick on the Thief's part? Yes, yes of course it was. Nobody else would want to hurt him so badly. Ryou's eyes darted over to the Thief, standing back in the shadowy corner of his kitchen. "How the fuck are you doing this?" He demanded.

"I didn't do anything, hikari," The Thief said softly. "Nothing but bring her here."

"I don't believe you," Ryou said, his slight frame beginning to tremble with the whirlwind of emotions that had filled him so suddenly. This was not happening. A trick, a joke, a terrible nightmare, but it certainly was not really happening. "No, no, I'm imagining this. This cannot be happening." "It can and it is," Amane's impostor said, her tone determined. "Ryou Bakura, listen to me. I am your sister. I am two years younger than you are almost to the day; we have the same parents. Mum died when you were seven; Dad disappeared into his work right after. We lived with Gran! We shared a room until she moved! You have to believe me!"

"Shut up," Ryou mumbled, hands firmly pressed over his ears, eyes closing tightly. _Not happening, not happening. _"How do you know this? Who the hell are you?"

"I'm you're sister!" She cried, grabbing his shoulders again and shaking him. "Ryou, you are my brother. I promise you, swear on my life, that I would not lie to you about this."

"She's dead," He whispered, shaking his head violently. "She is dead, and I don't know how you know these things but you can't be her. You aren't her. She died."

"Ryou," She said gently, "I am her. I think that I have something that could maybe prove it." The girl dug into the pocket of the leather jacket in her back, and held out the object it produced like it was some sort of treasure. And it was. A simple piece of yarn, beaded with little English letters that spelled out "A-M-A-N-E." It was a bracelet that Ryou vividly recalled making for his little sister in his nursery school craft period, tying it onto her tiny wrist proudly when he returned home to trumpet the knowledge he'd gained going off to school. His sister had never taken it off from the time he'd given it to her, even though their grandmother had insisted that it was silly for her to continue wearing it when she had turned eight. But Ryou was secretly delighted whenever she refused to remove the bracelet, silly as it was, that he'd made for his little sister. "I only took it off because I need to find longer yarn. I'm not dead Ryou. Please," She paused, her eyes glassy suddenly,

"Please, please believe me."

"Wh-where did you get that...?" Ryou stuttered.

"It's mine," She said quietly, her eyes downcast.

"I..." Ryou was perplexed that this girl seemed upset. She was hurting _him_ here with this pretending. "How do I know I can trust you?" He managed after a moment, "I mean, you show up with _him, _claiming to be a dead person." He tossed a dark look in the direction of the Thief.

"I found him first," The girl claiming to be Amane explained quickly. "I didn't know where you were, and I was a mess when I got here. So he let me stay with him last night so I could sort myself out." She ran a hand through her white hair, revealing a long scar from around her ear to the base of her skull.

"What is that?" Ryou said, disregarding the etiquette to which he typically stuck with strangers and pointing to the scar. Now was not the time for manners.

"This?" She asked, indicating the place he pointed to. "Well, I was in a coma after the accident... I underwent a few brain surgeries before I finally woke up..."

Ryou's eyes widened. "Why... are you here now? Why ten years later? How... how are you here? How can you be her?"

Amane sighed, and told in great detail the same story she had related to Bakura the day previous. She explained that their meddling grandmother who had always preferred her had lied to their father and said she was dead in order to insure sole custody of Amane, without having to raise Ryou as well. Amane explained that their grandmother had told her that _Ryou _had been the one to die in the crash, and that their father did not wish to see her anymore to keep her from asking questions. She told that her grandmother had tried to control her with strict restrictions, and that she had rebelled terribly, and how she'd only just discovered the truth a few days before and had immediately taken the woman's credit card and booked the first flight to Domino City, where she hoped to find the brother she'd believed was dead.

"Oh my God..." He whispered, unsure if he understood her story completely or if he could even believe that their grandmother was capable of such a thing, but he knew, simply _knew _that this was his sister. This was Amane. She had the same confidence, the same mannerisms only altered by maturity. It was her. She was alive. He was entirely elated. "Amane," He said simply, and he hugged her fiercely as if he could hold her tight enough and keep her from disappearing again. She hugged him back, sobbing quietly into his shoulder, soaking the material of his light green button down. "I thought I'd never see you again," he muttered.

"I know," Amane said quietly, "I felt the same way for so long."

They parted, smiles gracing their pale (and in Amane's case, tear streaked) faces. As if suddenly remembering, Ryou turned to Bakura. "Well... Thank you," he stately grudgingly, still unhappy to see the Thief standing in his kitchen. "For bringing her back." He cleared his throat. "But you can go now."

"Ryou!" Amane scolded, her mouth forming a surprised "o" at his seemingly uncharacteristic behavior. "Don't be like that! He was incredibly kind to let me stay and bring me here!"

"Him? _Kind?_" Ryou laughed humorlessly, not catching the look of confusion that crossed his sister's face. "He is the farthest thing from kind, Amane. Trust me."

Bakura shrugged. "I'm obviously not wanted," he said, his voice low. "I'll show myself out. I won't contact you again, hikari." He locked eyes with Amane momentarily, "It was a pleasure meeting you." He turned and left without another word.

Amane stared after him, millions of unspoken questions hanging in the air. "Ryou? If you don't mind me asking... what the hell was that?"

"Nothing that can't wait until tomorrow to explain," Ryou answered, a genuine smiling overtaking his face for the first time in what felt like years. The Thief was not about to taint this fantastically unexpectedly wonderful moment with their shared history. "I am so glad you're here."

"Me too," Amane said returning the smile. "So... How have you been for the last decade?"

Ryou shook his head, laughing to himself. "I've seen better days, that is for sure."

**Thank you for reading! Please review!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey everyone! Thanks again to everybody who has read and reviewed! And to my fabby beta! This is chapter is a bit shorter, and a lot lighter than last chapter. It's mostly filler, but the next chapter will be full of angst and posted soon. **

**Enjoy!**

**Chapter Playlist:**

1. Iris - The Goo Good Dolls  
2. Leather Pants - Little Kuriboh  
3. Shots! -LMFAO  
4. Wow, I Can Get Sexual Too - Say Anything  
5. Ignorance - Paramore

_**Chapter Four**_

Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.

Bakura's feet seemed determined to express an emotion he wasn't entirely positive he was feeling. His feet were very frustrated, somewhat disappointed at how his- _no-_ at how Ryou had reacted, and they expressed this by angrily stomping their way back to his apartment on the opposite side of town from the_ brat's_. It has just left him feeling very off kilter, like he'd been waiting for something that never happened. He supposed, and flinched internally as he realized this, he had been _hoping_ that this _-pathetic- _act of kindness toward the brat's sister would have gained him some ground in his attempts to right things with the boy. Instead, it appeared that Bakura's pessimistic side had been correct all along. Ryou continued to hate him, perhaps more vehemently than before, after Bakura had assisted Amane. He growled at a small child walking by who had peered up at him curiously from the -was that a leash?- cord that tethered it to its mother, and the child shrieked as he passed by.

Why had he bothered to get himself involved? He should have just handed the girl an address and have been done with the whole messy affair. But now he was frustrated and angry and -Oh Ra- _disappointed_ all because he just couldn't make himself let go of his former host. It was maddening. Especially the fact that Bakura only knew a handful of other people in this day and age, and Ryou and Malik were the only ones who'd ever shown him any shred of human decency. As much as Bakura loathed himself to admit it, he was rather lonely in this modern world without his hikari around. Not that he'd actually admit that to anybody. Not that he was even sure he _liked _the other boy. He was just so unused to being alone after sharing his soul with evil for thousands of years, and a polite teenager for five of them. And Ryou was honestly better company than Zorc ever was.

Scowling and uncertain of exactly what to do with himself now, Bakura dragged his tired body up the three flights of stairs inside his apartment complex. On the landing he hesitated; somebody had unlocked his door. Pondering the possibility that he -former King of Thieves- had been robbed (unlikely, as he'd set up precautions against the usual suspects and had nothing worth being stolen anyways), Bakura gingerly pushed open the door. He sensed that his typically empty apartment was hiding another person in it's long shadows, and immediately put himself on guard. Reaching down and tugging up his pant leg, he unsheathed a deadly weapon. A long thin blade designed specifically to be stabbed into the heart of an opponent glinted in the half-light of the small one bedroom flat. He closed the door silently behind him, making little noise as he crept toward his darkened living room.

"Boo!" Whispered a familiar voice from behind him.

Bakura spun around instantly, pinning the potential assailant against the wall in one swift, harsh movement. With his free hand he pointed the weapon at the chest of the man, and growled,

"Who the fuck are you?"

"Chill out, Bakura," said the captive, reaching over to flip on the lights. In his kitchen stood Malik, his eyes wide and fixated on the blade hovering inches from his chest. "I let myself in," He explained as the former thief remained unmoving. "You gave me the key months ago when you moved into this place, remember?" His lavender eyes looked somewhat concerned at the immobile figure of Bakura that held him trapped against the wall remained still. "Seriously, what is your problem? I'm sorry I snuck up on you. I thought you would have seen me when you walked in! I was just going to see if you had any soda lurking around in this place while I waited for you to come home."

Bakura finally eased up when Malik said "home." Not that it _was_ his home, but whenever Malik used the word around him he knew for a fact that the kid had gone soft after Battle City. He was a regular goody-two-shoes these days, always tossing around words like "home" and "friends" and hanging around the Pharaoh's former host and his friends. The vocabulary always gave him away, and it was the best test to determine whether or not the real Malik stood before him. Bakura shook his head, as if ridding himself of the confusion enveloping him was possible this way. "Sorry," he muttered, bending down to replace his knife to where it belonged.

"You carry that stiletto around with you all the time?" Malik questioned, his voice part amused and part horrified.

Bakura shrugged. "I'm used to it. Feels wrong to go out without it." He fixed Malik with a harsh glare then, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Forgive me for not thinking a job in telemarketing was particularly dangerous," Malik said with a smirk.

"So, to what do I owe the honor of your presence in my apartment?" Bakura said sarcastically, choosing to simply ignore Malik's commentary on his employment. Though they rarely seemed convincing, he _did _death threats from time to time. Not that that was the reason he carried a weapon on him. He'd spoken true; after a life under the constant threat of violence, it seemed wrong to go anywhere unarmed.

"Oh," Malik said, face acquiring a pinkish tint, and he scratched his neck awkwardly. "I was just curious about how it went with Ryou."

"You broke into my apartment to hear gossip?" Bakura asked, his tone flat and disbelieving.

"Well, you would have ignored my calls," Malik said with a shrug. "Besides, I have a key. This is hardly breaking and entering..." Bakura narrowed his eyes, and Malik laughed. "Oh, you know that you would have ignored my calls. No point in denying it; it isn't like Ryou's around so you have to impress him with your newly-acquired people skills."

"Fuck off," Bakura said frowning.

"So, considering your attitude," Malik plowed on, either oblivious to Bakura's dark mood or pointedly ignoring it. "I'm putting my money on him telling you to get the fuck out." He leaned in far to closely to Bakura's face, as if his presence alone would make the 3000 year old spirit crack. "Am I right?"

"He thanked me first," Bakura said in a strange voice, his eyes adapting a glaze that made him appear miles away. "But yeah, he basically was pissed at me the whole time." He crossed his arms defensively, daring Malik with his eyes to say anything on the matter. Bakura felt so strange about the whole situation, he didn't really need Malik to be condescending and pointing out what he'd managed to fuck up this time. Then again, that wouldn't be nearly as bad as if Malik went his other route... the somewhat sympathetic, _how does that make you feel? _route. That pissed Bakura off to no end. He didn't want to discuss his fucking feelings with Malik of all people, because it always felt like Malik was attempting to figure him out and change him even more drastically just so the Egyptian teen got to witness the ridiculous happy ending he'd cooked up in his free time. If this is what college did to people, Bakura wasn't even sure he wanted to be around his hikari anymore now that he'd gone and enrolled.

Malik looked at Bakura hard for a moment, then grabbed his jacket. "Okay, you officially have nothing here to eat or drink," He said, shrugging the jacket on, "Let's go get trashed."

Several hours, and an uncounted or unremembered number of rounds of shots later, the two sat in a nearby bar, quite thoroughly intoxicated. The bartender had long ago taken away Malik's keys, and the two were having a grand time talking about anything and everything that came to mind. Much of which was a collection of terrible comparisons of certain small food items to a particular part of the Pharaoh's body. And Bakura loudly declaring that the "King of Games" was in love with himself. Then, at one point, looking very serious, Malik looked at Bakura and said,"You know what I don't get?"

"What?" Bakura said, fighting the urge to suddenly giggle. This was why he didn't drink often; he got too _happy._ It was nearly as pathetic as being sad.

"Why were we always so afraid of getting hurt during duels that weren't Shadow Games?" Malik slurred, running a hand through his blond hair. "I mean, really. Holograms? What the hell could they really do to a person? Not a damn thing that- that's what. Nobody's ever been hurt by a fucking hologram!" He took two more shots in quick succession. "Stupid. Really, the whole thing was stupid... Card games...children's card games."

Bakura shrugged, "It was loads better when there were actual monsters. Did massive damage. People died sometimes, which was always fun to watch." He said this with an air of wisdom, and then found this to be endlessly funny and had to choke back several snorts of laughter for a few moments. "Like, that was a game worth playing. None of this card game nonsense."  
At that very moment, two rather attractive -though it might have just been the booze- young women came to order drinks next to them. Bakura could tell (even in his own intoxicated state) that they were obviously looking to go home with somebody that night... And they were both eying Malik's back. Malik seemed to have sensed this too, because he immediately leaned over and began chatting them up. About what, Bakura didn't pay attention. It wasn't really anything he wanted to know. But next he knew, Malik was saying to the taller girl, "You know, I actually have a motorcycle outside..."

And then, without any warning, a voice thundered from down the bar, singing loudly, "HE'S GOT A MOTORCYCLE!"

Everyone stopped whatever they were doing and stared as none other than Bandit Keith Howard grinned triumphantly as his short song was finished. He stood, bowed and returned to whatever it was he'd been doing off in that corner by himself.

"That was a terrible song," Bakura remarked, without giving any thought to the fact that Bandit Keith Howard was in Domino, or that he was drunkenly singing about motorcycles in the very same bar that he was in. The girl who was being largely ignored by Malik nodded in agreement.

Malik never once halted his flirting during the interruption, but now he leaned over to Bakura and said, smiling widely, "Bakura! What if... what if they played Duel Monsters... but on motorcycles!"

"Ishtar, you are possibly the stupidest person I have ever had the misfortune to meet," said the Thief smiling broadly.

"This is my friend Bakura, by the way," Malik said as if the whole exchange hadn't happened, introducing the girls to Bakura as if he'd only just remembered he was being somewhat rude to his intoxicated friend. "He's actually a bit of a jerk sometimes..."

"Thanks, Malik," Bakura interjected.

But the second girl didn't seem put off by Malik's accusation. In fact, she seemed quite the opposite. Her blue eyes lit up when Malik called him a jerk, and she smiled coyly at him. "Bakura, is it?"

"Yeah," He said, unsure of what the hell had just happened.

"I love your hair," She said, and then suddenly her hand was in it and it was hilariously funny because this tipsy woman was attempting to _flirt _with him, and he just couldn't keep himself from laughing as she drunkenly tried to entice him with her womanly ways. It had little to no affect on him, but it was amusing nonetheless when she sat herself upon his lap and began purring and cooing in his ear. Seeing as the music in the bar was somewhat deafening (and Bakura just plain didn't care what the woman had to say), he had no idea what she was saying. But when he felt her lips hit his neck, suddenly kissing the place where Amane's knife had pierced his skin the day prior, he found himself blurting, somewhat stupidly, "I'm armed."

"Ooh?" She said, her tongue thick with alcohol. "That's so hot." And back at his neck she went.

To be perfectly honest, Bakura was rather paralyzed at that point. It wasn't that it felt bad to have her on him - no, no, quite the opposite, it felt rather _nice, _which was sickening in itself- he just didn't want any part of this drunken mess touching him. He didn't just want to shove her off of him (Malik would likely scold him), but Bakura didn't know how else to make her stop.

After about 10 uncomfortable minutes, Malik decided that it was time to go, and announced this to the bar at large which was met with cries of "boo" and Bandit Keith singing again. Thanking any and every god that existed, Bakura stood and explained that he had to leave, setting the unfortunate (and nameless) girl who'd been molesting him on the floor. Then he turned and followed Malik, without another word to the drunken mess.

The three of them (Malik, Bakura, and Malik's drunken girl-person who had tagged along without any real explanation) stumbled their way back to Bakura's apartment, a walk that had never seemed so difficult than it did that very moment. Giggling, and practically carrying the girl (whose heels prevented her from keeping up) in through the door, Malik and Bakura arrived back at

Bakura's apartment. "Is it cool if I crash here?"

Bakura nodded, unsure of what he'd just agreed to. This was mostly because his stomach had turned on him and the alcohol sloshing around in his system was making him seasick suddenly. He dashed off to the lavatory, and found himself on his knees worshiping the porcelain goddess shortly after, before everything sort of went dark.

Several hours passed, he assumed, when his eyes suddenly darted open. Bakura woke to strange creaking noises, finding himself still crouched over on his bathroom floor. His head was pillowed on his toilet seat, inches away from his own sick which sat mixing with water in the toilet's bowl. Disgusted, and feeling something like he'd been recently been run over by a semi-truck, Bakura flushed the toilet and stood shakily. He splashed some water on his face, and then turned to walk back to his bedroom, fully intent on sleeping away the rest of his (hopefully short) lifetime. However, upon opening the bathroom door, he cast light on what noises had likely woken him moments before. The girl Malik had dragged back with them sat, naked, on what appeared to be none other than Malik. She was moaning quite loudly...

_Oh my fucking God..._

Bakura quickly slapped a hand over his eyes to block out the travesty of human mating occurring on his sofa. "Jesus Christ, Malik!" He shouted, outraged. Perhaps because there was still enough alcohol in his system to make it seem wise, Bakura stumbled closer to the pair on his sofa, eyes still covered by his hand, when they said nothing at first.

"Fuck, he's up!" The girl half whispered, half moaned to Malik, who seemed unfazed and continued working toward whatever his goal was... Bakura didn't want to give it much thought, or he might get sick again. "Malik!" The girl insisted.

"Wha-?" He looked up at Bakura's seething form, henna-colored eyes uncovered now and glaring quite intimidatingly down at the Egyptian. "Ah! Shit!"  
Without a second's hesitation, the girl clamored off of Malik, stooped to gather her clothes and shoes, and sprinted from the apartment, a shouted "sorry!" tossed over her shoulder as she ran. Bakura and Malik (having quickly stepped back into his pants) stood, arms crossed over their chests, glaring at each other. The tension was broken with a slam of the door. "What the fuck?" Bakura cried. "I never once... In all the time... What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Sorry," Malik said, shrugging. "I thought you were asleep."

* * *

"I just can't believe it's really you," Amane was saying to Ryou, fighting the burning feeling that was building up in her eyes for about the millionth time that day. "Seriously, until last week I'd been living thinking you were in the ground somewhere. I just want to stress how happy I am to see you alive!" Amane grinned widely at her brother, who beamed back at her. Over the past few hours, no matter what they talked about, it always seemed to circle back to this point: the siblings were nothing short of thrilled to see the other alive and (relatively) well.

"I'm really sorry for not believing you straight away," Ryou said, head dropping in shame. "I just... Some very unbelievable things have happened in the past few years, but I just never thought... I didn't think it was possible for you to just show up someday," He said this with a strange half-smile. "Especially considering who you showed up with."

"Alright," Amane said, voice determined as she decided it was finally time to address this issue, as it had been bothering her for the majority of the night. "You've been dancing around this for the past few hours, Ryou. Just what the hell is up with you and Bakura? How do you know each other? Why does his name make you look like you want to go on a murder spree?" She looked thoughtful for a moment, "And for that matter... What is up with this name anyways? Weird coincidence that his name is our surname... I'm thinking not."

Ryou opened his mouth to protest, but his younger sister halted him with a look. "Seriously, Ryou. It is pretty obvious that you hate him, and I haven't even been around for the last ten years. So, who is he, and what did he do, exactly?" She was quite curious about the man who'd taken her in only the night before, especially now that it was painstakingly clear that her older brother hated everything about the other man. Amane could not wrap her head around it. While he had been a tad bit stand-offish (which, seeing as she greeted him by nearly slitting his throat wasn't especially surprising) and eccentric (who the hell put cereal in the refrigerator?), Amane had seen nothing in her brother's "evil twin" that seemed to indicate that he was worthy of such hatred. Especially from her brother, who with the exception of Bakura, seemed just as even tempered and tolerant as he always had been.

"What he did was... was.. inexcusable!" Ryou said, clenching his hands into tight fists.

Amane raised her eyebrows in surprise, and said about as gently as she could manage, "Is he your ex or something?"

"What?" Ryou yelped, recoiling. "No. God no. What...? No, no, that Thief is certainly not my ex." He shook his head, looking something like disgusted. He sighed. "Look, 'Mane, the story with him... To be frank it unbelievable. Honestly, sometimes I cannot _actually_ believe everything that has happened... So," He heaved a huge sigh here. "Please, when I explain... Don't think I'm crazy. I promise, I'm not. And I have friends that can confirm that this actually...happened, as bizarre as that sounds."

Amane nodded, looking apprehensive. While she could say that she'd experienced a good amount of craziness in the past few years (you can only call it crazy when you wake up in a bed with a pair of people you've never actually met before, at least as far back as your memory went, head swimming, feeling like the world was literally going to come crashing down on you and taking cover in an abandoned basement for a week), she was not expecting the words to come from her brother's mouth. "Remembering that Ring? The one Dad brought me back from Egypt on the last time he visited us... the last time he visited us at Gran's?"

"Yeah," Amane said, smirking. "I remember being so jealous because I wanted a pretty necklace," she laughed. Amane's eyes scoured her brother's collar, noting that the Egyptian artifact was nowhere in sight. This was confusing; before they were separated, Ryou hardly ever took the thing off. "Why'd you stop wearing that, by the way?"

"Well, it's... it is a part of this long story," Ryou said, sounding suddenly very tired. At that moment he began to explain that within the Ring was housed an evil spirit, a spirit that reeked havoc on her brother's life consistently for about five years. He said that he'd been unaware of the Spirit's presence at first, but strange occurrences started happening whenever he'd play games with school friends. People began mysteriously falling into comas whenever he played with them, and the truth was finally revealed on the day he met his (now good friend) Yuugi Mutou. The Spirit of the Millennium Ring, from that point forward, was hardly secretive about his constant possession of Ryou's body, making him do terrible things to others all in an attempt finally get the revenge he'd been waiting on for thousands of years. Fortunately, Ryou said that the Spirit had been defeated by Yuugi's similar Spirit, a former Egyptian Pharaoh. Following the Spirit's defeat, he and the Pharaoh had disappeared. Unfortunately, all of the trouble caused by the Spirit in the modern world had been left for Ryou to clean up. He lost his apartment due to back rent (because when the Spirit had been in control, such trivial things had been unimportant), he had to wait to apply to university because his grades had suffered so much during the years he was always moving. Worst of all, the Spirit's presence had gotten Ryou disowned by their father, because the responsibility for all of the consequences that Ryou had suffered fell directly on Amane's brother's shoulders, and their father decided that his son was too irresponsible to continue being financially assisted. And seeing as the man had rarely visited int he first place, this financial denial had resulted in a subsequent severing of all ties between the boy and his father. As such, Ryou now had to live solely off of his part-time job and the loans he'd taken out for school.

And just as her brother was about to get his life back into working order, on a cold day in November of the year prior, the Spirit of the Ring, now in his own body, showed up at his door. And suddenly all of the hate, the hurt, and the resentment had come to a head. And, as Ryou explained, he could not bring himself _not_ to hate the man who had caused him such trouble.  
Amane was, frankly, very confused by her brother's tale. It was literally unbelievable, and she had a hard time ignoring the parts of her brain lighting up with questions about how any of these things were even remotely possible. Part of her was so tempted to look her brother straight on, tell him he was crazy, and demand the truth. But there was this earnestness in his eyes, this desperation to be heard in his voice... She couldn't just outright deny him. If nothing else, Ryou believed it. And that was, for now at least, enough to keep her from bubbling over in her need for a plausible explanation.

"Wow," Amane said, blinking in surprise. "So, he just came back? No reason?"

"None that he knows of," Ryou said, a glimmer of anger and hurt flashing across his chocolate-brown eyes. "Look, I just... I can't forgive him. He selfishly used me for years and years, and just because he's trying for humanity doesn't change the fact that he nearly ruined my life. So, please... Believe me when I say that he is evil and that he can't be trusted. I have my reasons to believe this."

"Yeah," She said, shifting uncomfortably. As wild as the story was, she could believe it. But, from where she stood, it seemed to be lacking something rather vital: a motive. Every single evil person out there had some reasoning, faulty or otherwise, for why they did what they did. Amane found it rather surprising that Ryou did not know, and obviously didn't care to know, the motivation behind Bakura's quest for vengeance. Not that Amane thought that it would make the things he did to her brother even remotely excusable (she briefly considered giving him hell for even thinking about going near her brother, images of the knife sitting comfortably in the pocket of her jacket being inserted directly into Bakura's heart flitting across her mind before she dismissed them as unnecessarily violent and not giving the other man the benefit of the doubt), it just seemed odd that for somebody as compassionate as Ryou to not know.

"Damn," Ryou muttered, looking at his watch, "How did it get so late?"

Amane shrugged, "That's the way time works, I'd figure. Passes by whenever you let it out of your sight."

Ryou grinned. "God, I had missed you," he said quietly. "I am so glad you're here, Amane. Really."

"I am genuinely happy to be here, Ryou," She said, smiling broadly. And it was true... even if her brother was potentially crazier than she was.

At that moment, Ryou felt a buzzing from his pocket. Producing a battered cell phone, he flipped it open and said, "Hello?"

He was quiet, a small frown forming on his lips. "Malik, it is almost four am!" There was a pause, "Why? Why the hell... Of all the places...? Do you need me to come get you?" A shorter pause, "Okay, well if you're sure... Sleep with one eye open, Malik Ishtar. I'd hate to have to hear from him of your untimely demise." Ryou paused one last time, his face suddenly bright pink, "Good bye, Malik."

"Sorry about that," Ryou said, seeming to be embarrassed. "My genius friend Malik... Never mind, I'm sure you'll meet him for yourself soon enough to figure out what I mean."

**Thanks for reading, and please review!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello my dear readers! I just wanted to tell all of you how much I really appreciate your feedback! It's making me quite happy, let me tell you! **

**As always, thanks to Tet of 1999 for being my beta! Oh, and for those of you who choose to take a gander at the chapter playlists, you can thank him this time! He picked out most of the songs, and they are quite good! :D**

**Chapter Playlist:**

1. Unspoken Request - Boysetsfire  
2. John Wayne Gacy, Jr. - Sufjan Stevens  
3. Headfirst Slide into Cooperstown on a Bad Bet - Fall Out Boy (Forgive me for picking a song from Folie a Deux...lol)  
4. Tenuousness - Andrew Bird (Live in the basement recording, if you please)  
5. Smoke and Mirrors - The Receiving End of Sirens

_**Chapter Five**_

_The heat could be seen rolling off the white sand, even in the fading sunlight. The men around me were sitting on the outskirts of a village, content with the day's spoils. I smirked; it was always best when they were kept fed and happy. Less of a chance for one of them to turn on me -or worse, have them question my motives. The last thing I needed was a parade of unnecessary questions. I wanted my chance at the Pharaoh, and unfortunately, the palace was too well protected for me on my own to handle...  
_

_So, even though it pained me to admit it, I needed these buffoons I lead around Egypt. They were kept happy by constantly raiding villages; I was kept happy as long as they swore their allegiance as we made our way to the Pharaoh's stronghold. I just wanted my revenge, nothing more. I wanted justice for my village. And I promised these imbeciles all of the riches they could get their hands on in the process. It was a crude system, but it worked. It wasn't exactly easy for someone like me -impoverished commoner with no family or reputation to speak of - to properly command a band of thieves. Especially if you considered that I was rather young still, while most of those under my command were at least half a decade my senior.  
_

_They all spoke idly as the sun began to sink below the horizon. I rarely paid attention to their conversations... They always felt the need to justify why they lived their transient lifestyles. Honestly, I had no interest in their excuses. I lived this way because it was the only way I _could _live. I lived this way because I had no choice; the Pharaoh had insured that when Kul Elna was destroyed. I had no desire to hear of their families, their children, and how they hoped to return to their villages as rich men when all was said and done.  
_

_I was knocked from my musings by a sudden outburst of noise from the center of camp, where it appeared two men had returned at long last. Each of them had an arm attached to a slight, female captive. The girl was whimpering, and pleading with the two men in a language I did not understand. Her face was dirty and tear streaked, but undeniably pretty. I frowned thinking this; how long had it been since I'd had a moment to consider a girl pretty? Thoughts like this were unwelcome in a man as driven as I; they distracted and were disconcerting because they were so foreign.  
_

_Flicking the thought off, I approached the two men. "What seems to be the problem?" I asked, crossing my arms and using my most commanding voice. This type of disturbance was not to be tolerated, and I was determined to insure that. Both men, some of this band's youngest -meaning hardly older than I was -turned to look at me, eyes wild and there was a certain element of positiveness in both pairs._

_ The taller one (I never bothered to learn their names), frowned. "Yes, sir," He said, trying his best to sound both outraged at his plight and respectful towards his leader. "I found this little woman in the village," _

_He explained, jerking her thin frame with a twitch of his arm. "And I decided I'd keep her. But he seems to think that he saw her first, and he wants to keep her for himself."  
_

_"I _did _see her first!" The other protested loudly. "You snatched her away when I had my back turned."  
_

_"Well, maybe you shouldn't have turned your back!" The taller man shouted.  
_

_"Enough!" I heard myself thunder over their petty squabble, annoyed to my very limits because of their childish behavior. What pleasure would they truly gain from this girl? She'd hardly last long; it wasn't as if they'd remember to feed her to keep her alive. Not to mention the beaten state she was in, and likely exhausted. I fought the urge to bite my lip; unwillingly I had begun to pity her. Pity could not be afforded, and it was a punishable offense within my ragtag band of tomb robbers. I brushed the thoughts off as quickly as they came. She could not be afforded pity, no matter what.  
_

_"Yes, enough is enough," Said an older man who traveled among my men. He was often troublesome, but remained (for the most part) loyal. However, he was popular among the men, and it was a calculated risk to keep him around if only to guarantee their loyalty. "It would appear that, if you two cannot decide to whom she rightfully belongs, the woman should go to a third party. And without our leader," he let his unnervingly dark eyes wander over to me, "we never would have found the village today, which means we never would have found the girl. I vote that the girl belongs to him."  
I scoffed. "I have no time for such things. Someone else can have her."  
_

_One of the other men laughed. "Seems strange that our own 'fearless' leader is afraid of a little woman," Came a voice not long after.  
_

_"Yes, that _is _rather strange" Commented the older man with dark eyes. His face twisted into a disturbing smile. "Come now, sir. I'm sure you could spare a few minutes to enjoy the gift your men have so graciously given you. In fact, you could do it right here and now."  
_

_Although I was certain the girl in question hadn't the slightest clue what was being said by the looks of confusion and fear flashing across her sun darkened face, she began weeping openly at the man's words. She locked eyes with me suddenly, hers a warm dark brown, seemingly pleading silently with me to shoot down the snide remarks of all of these men. But they were endless, and these terrible men grew more and more insubordinate with every moment I allowed them to continue unchecked.  
_

_"I'll bet he's never even had a woman!"_

_ It was followed by a chorus of laughter. _

_ They were laughing..._

_ At me..._

_ Over some stupid woman.  
_

_And there I snapped.  
_

_Without so much as another word, I stalked over to the girl, hanging limp, still held captive between the two men. I roughly removed her from their grasp, and dragged her unwillingly back toward my tent. The men followed, intrigued, I'm sure, by my strange behavior. All the while the girl whimpered and pleaded, but I could not understand her... nor could I set her free. I needed these men for my revenge; I needed to avenge the deaths of my sister and mother... of my whole village. I could not do it alone; without the support of these brainless men, I would be put down before I even got to utter an accusation at the sovereign. I needed to quell these brief moments of rebelliousness...no matter what the cost.  
_

_Amidst cheers and jeers, I pushed the girl to the ground, holding her immobile in one hand.  
_

_The act itself felt like it took an eternity. All I could focus on was the tears streaming from those eyes... So wide, so defenseless, and she resisted me the whole time... So weakly she resisted, and I overpowered her so very easily and it was sick what I was doing and I'd never actually done this before and she was crying openly and this wasn't what I had expected and she was whispering and I was breathing heavily and she was whimpering and I was _enjoying _her pain and her eyes begged me to stop and I knew that I mustn't couldn't wouldn't stop and those eyes spilled over and over again with tears over and over and over and, finally, _finally_ I finished and was greeted by the sight and smell of her blood on me as a I stood. She curled into a ball, into herself, crying and screaming words I still could not comprehend. Her body was covered in sand, but she seemed unfazed by this as she cried and cried in the now cool sands, her blood and tears having the most horrifying effect on the colors. Her small hands -gods, she couldn't be more than thirteen, I realized with a jolt- tangled in her long hair and she pulled on it as if that could save her. Save her from what I had just done. What I had enjoyed doing. What I wanted to do. She sobbed and sobbed and the men around me watched and laughed, and asked if they could have her next.  
_

_I could not help it. I no longer cared in this moment how I might appear to these idiotic men, and my stomach was unable to digest what my mind and body had done so readily, and I stalked away a few feet, becoming violently ill, my sick splattering the sands with the remains of the only proper meal I'd had in weeks. _Had I just done that? _Why, gods, why would I ruin this girl this way? She was someone's daughter, someone's sister. Oh gods, someone's sister..._

_ My mind flashed to my own sister, how old she would be now..._

_ My stomach turned on me again, and if anything had remained in my guts, it was now splayed out upon the sands and I was so sickened, yet so able to just blink away the negative feelings over a few minutes of impermanent bodily pleasure. It was disgusting, offensive, terrifying..._

_ And in a moment I righted myself, standing stronger and taller than I'd ever stood before. _

_I turned to the older man with the unnerving eyes crossing the distance between us quickly. He laughed, and clapped me on the back as if to say well done, good show. Round two once the dark settles?  
_

_He sickened me.  
_

_...I sickened myself.  
_

_I hadn't wanted this... I'd simply wanted loyalty from men who could help when this had all began half a year ago... Now I'd willing taken something unnecessary. Something hardly vital to my survival; I'd gotten greedy. I hadn't wanted this... I hadn't wanted to become this callous shell of a person, hardly human, who'd killed and raped and pillaged and committed so many unspeakable sins all before I'd even reached twenty years old.  
_

_I was disgusted by myself, but I could only acknowledge this for a moment. _

_ Because I could live with the mess I'd made of my life, but not with those whom I'd let alter the planned course. I did not change for petty peons, and this was to be carved into my skin should I need to so long as I never made this disgusting kind of hideous mistake again.  
_

_I had to deal with that man...  
_

_Because he had started this; he had been the cause for the rebellious chants and cries and he would pay oh Ra he would pay for this for the poor girl because I couldn't pay, not just yet, I would pay later, I swear to Ra I would_ have _to pay. I'd hand myself over willingly to whichever gods wanted me to pay, but he needed to pay now this minute because his life had no larger purpose, and yes I had decided but I got to decide now damn it, and he was going to pay.  
_

_I grabbed him by the front of his loose-fitting clothes, staring deep into those disturbingly dark eyes as his mouth dropped open in surprise.  
_

_I drew my knife.  
_

_Unblinkingly, I stabbed him in the chest.  
_

_In the hollow where his heart might have been once.  
_

_Once.  
_

_Again.  
_

_Over and over.  
_

_A familiar rhythmic motion that now made me feel ill.  
_

_But I inserted my knife into his chest.  
_

_And I watched the life fade from his eyes.  
_

_Until he fell at my feet, crumpled and defeated and pathetic and dead.  
_

_I kicked the face of the corpse.  
_

_The other men looked on, questions and apprehension lingering in the air. "From now on, you'll do little more than obey or be killed. No back talk. No commentary. Not a word against me, or I swear you'll not live to finished your sentence. Is that clear?"  
_

_I did not wait around for an answer, instead retreating into the cool purple night. _

Bakura gasped, jerking awake suddenly. He did not move for the longest moment, preferring to keep his eyes closed against the horrific images in his mind. Had he really been that desperate for revenge that he stooped so low? Yes, that answer remained true no matter how he tried to convince himself otherwise (though often he used be able to tell himself he simply didn't _care_). Had all of the evil been worth it? The obvious answer was a resounding no. Especially when you considered that after all that, all the evil, after selling his very _soul _to evil incarnate, to Zorc, _he hadn't even succeeded_. He had _failed_, twice. He had waited around for thousands of years, only to fail a second time. He hadn't even gotten his revenge, yet he had still committed these unspeakable acts. He'd convinced himself, in the bowls of his remaining humanity, that it would all be worth it in the end. All would be worth it when the truth was known and the Pharaoh killed.

But it was all over.

And he had failed not once, but twice.

And after thousands of years... none of it had been worth it.

_Ra, _no wonder Ryou hated him... and the boy barely knew the half of it.

Bakura rolled over onto his side, wallowing in both guilt and shame, and being angry with himself for even being able to feel such things. As he moved, he noticed the throbbing headache he was experiencing. The nausea from the night before that had washed over him. The cold sweat that made his clothes stick to his body uncomfortably. He shut his eyes tightly, then wrenched them open to glance at the clock. 8:59. He couldn't be sure if it was morning or night.

He wasn't sure he cared.

Bakura noticed, before closing his eyes again, that there was a glass of water sitting on his bedside table that was not there the night before. Sitting up (and ignoring the protests from his aching body), Bakura peered at the glass. Next to it sat a pair of aspirin, both sitting atop what appeared to be another old take-out menu. He gently moved the glass and the pills, and stared openly at the menu. Across the smallish print of the menu was scrawled a note.

_Bakura,  
I am sooooooooo sorry about last night. I was drunk, it was stupid. Please don't kill me, okay?  
I'll buy you a new couch!  
I left you some aspirin; you're probably going to need them.  
-Malik  
_

Shrugging, Bakura tossed the two pills in his mouth and swallowed without touching the water. Then he rolled over, deciding that this Saturday was going to be spent in bed, trying to forget all of the regrets of his past before they could consume him entirely.

* * *

"Good morning!" Amane said brightly as Ryou stumbled out of his bedroom.

"G'morning," Ryou mumbled, scratching the back of his head. He'd forgotten that, no matter how late she'd been up, Amane was always up early and chipper about it. She was already up and dressed at - Ryou checked his watch- 9:30, after they'd been up until four in the morning. He smiled broadly anyways; he was exceptionally happy to see her standing in his kitchen, so obviously alive. He ambled over to the coffee pot where, he was quite pleased to see, Amane had already brewed a pot of coffee.

"So, what are your plans for the day?" Amane said cheerfully, sitting down at the small kitchen table across from her brother.

Ryou blinked at her a few times, his brain still exceptionally sluggish in the moments after waking up. "I have to work from eleven until six," He said, as if this news surprised him somewhat. "Unless you wanted to do something together...? I could call in."

She waved her hand, as if to say he was being silly. "No, I figured I'd wander around town for a bit today, honestly. Get to know the city where you live and all," She stopped, smiling at him. "So, you work?"

"Yes," Ryou said, grinning. "At a small bookshop just off the main road. It isn't much, but it's pretty quiet, and it lets me get my coursework finished for school."

"You're still in school?" Amane said, looking at him, obviously puzzled.

"No, no," Ryou said, smiling. "University. I'm a bit behind, but I'm there."

"Sweet," Amane said, her smile fading a bit. "I have no idea what I'm doing, to be honest."

"I'm sure you'll figure it out," Ryou said, trying to sound reassuring. "Take a little time to figure out what you want to do. It'll work out."

"Thanks," She said with a grin. "I think I'm going to head out now. I'll see you later, okay? Call me if you need anything!" Amane tossed on her jacket and ran out of the apartment, tossing, "I love you!"over her shoulder.

Ryou stared after her for a long moment, her words ringing in his ears. How long had it been since somebody had actually said that? He ignored the pang of loneliness that he'd been experiencing for most of his life, deciding instead to focus on the warm feeling he got at hearing his sister -his living, breathing sister- saying that she _loved _him. Ryou smiled to himself as he finished his cup of coffee.

* * *

Bakura rolled over, peering at his digital clock as if it were some sort of enemy to be squashed. _10:23. _He'd barely fallen back to sleep. Grumbling to himself, Bakura decided that his bed would not allow him to enjoy its warm embrace much longer. He dragged himself through a thoughtless morning routine, performed a few hours later than usual, showering and dressing (his most threadbare t-shirt and a pair of second hand jeans that he'd accidentally managed to tear the knee out of several months ago) quickly while a pot of coffee brewed. He concluded, due to the sloshing in his stomach, that food wouldn't be a bright idea at the time.

He sat himself on his couch after finishing his coffee, feeling somewhat ill. Not physically, but in his mind... Bakura was sickened by the dream. The nightmare; the memory. God, he sickened himself. He was such a disgusting excuse for a person. He had done such horrid things, and most of them he couldn't even bring himself to be sorry for.

Bakura irritably flipped on his television, staring blankly at the weather forecast for the week. His mind wandered idly to the drunken mess of a girl at the bar who had been molesting him during the previous night. Bakura shivered. He shouldn't have let her do that... Truth be told, Bakura had been rather unwilling to let anyone get close enough to him -physically close, that is, emotionally close was not even an option- to touch him. Since his return (Gods, everything lately seemed like it began with that preface), Bakura had been dealing with his past crimes. He had come to the conclusion that while he was hardly any competition for Zorc, Bakura was quite certain that he was evil, with no chance of redemption and no purpose for his time on earth. He was a disgusting excuse for a person...

And that girl in his dream, the one who existed, so hazy, in his real existing memories? The girl with those wide mocha eyes, shrieking in pain and fear... she haunted him. She'd been suppressed by his blind egoism and his drive, and now he was left to deal with the disgusting truth of who he was. Part of his guilt over the girl was her attachment to other person he'd so brutally violated; because those eyes were so damn (eerily) similar to Ryou's own chocolate orbs, and so she reminded Bakura of his other victim; the other part of it was nothing more than the simply truth of his actions that night so long ago. The truth of who he truly was at his core; nothing more than an unforgivable criminal. He had robbed the girl of her innocence all for the purpose of securing control over a rowdy band of thieves and scoundrels. He had taken over and left his hikari's life in ruins for a second chance at a dead man.

And, worst yet, it had all been in vain.

All for nothing.

He didn't even have the comfort of a justification.

And it was disgusting how much that _bothered _him.

Bakura crossed his arms tightly over his chest, and frowned. He hated the fact that he had no idea what he had done to be given a shot at life. He hated that of the small handful of people he knew in this era, none of them were particularly fond of him, and all by Malik avoided him pointedly. Bakura hated most of all that they had ever right to hate him.

Bakura hated that he could accept being hated.

He knew that he was evil in someway. That he was unworthy of this shot at life, because there were so many others who had deserved it so much more. That, Bakura admitted to himself grudgingly in the loneliness of his one bedroom apartment, was why he didn't let Malik in too far. Why he avoided being touched.

He was unworthy of it.

Of any of this fucking _blessing_ he'd been given.

Not that he'd ever admit that to anyone. Not when all of them preferred to view Bakura as this selfish, self idolizing bastard who did nothing but evil and was nothing but a nuisance.  
...Not when Bakura himself wished he could be more like that version. At least he didn't have to feel this terrible about everything all the time.

* * *

It was nearing midday, and Amane was wandering the streets of Domino in the bright sunlight. It was in stark contrast to day she's arrived, which had been stormy and freezing. In fact, Amane was feeling a bit warm in her jacket. She threw her hair up into a high ponytail to keep it off of her neck. She was really liking this exposure to the sun. Back home in London, it felt like rainy and gray days were all she'd ever get the chance to know. The sun made her feel giddy with the possibilities that this change of scenery could bring. She could escape the pathetic shell of a girl she'd been back in London, and reinvent Amane Bakura and make her into be the girl she'd rather be.  
Wow, and the sun made her optimistic too. _What a concept... _

Amane laughed to herself, pulling out her pack of cigarettes, lighting a match pulled from the other pocket, and inhaling deeply as she wandered with a smile upon her face. Parts of the downtown area, she was beginning to discover, were filled with quaint little shops. She peered through a number of large windows, debating stopping into a few of them after she finished her smoke for a little shopping. Amane glanced down at the jeans she'd "purchased" the day prior. They were a name brand pair of flared leg jeans; not her typical style but she'd been in a hurry and had been able to pop off the security tag using nothing more than her lighter.

She shrugged, dropping her finished cigarette to the ground and stubbing it out with her toe of her shoes.

Deciding that she could really use some caffeine, Amane ducked into a near-by coffee shop. She walked briskly into line, squinting at the menu that seemed miles away, attempting to read the in house selections. She was craving tea, to be honest, because some small part of her was missing home and (though she'd never admit it) the tea her grandmother always brewed. Ignoring that nagging feeling in the back of her mind, she firmly decided she only wanted something with coffee. Amane stood on her tiptoes to get a better look, only to be bumped into from behind moments after she halted.

"Oh, gods, sorry!" Said a male voice in her ear. "I'm overly enthusiastic about getting coffee, I guess."

Amane turned to look at the inconsiderate bastard who'd bumped her, but instead found a very attractive (and tan) blond male standing in his place. He was smiling at her, showing off two rows of white teeth and wide lavender eyes. He wore a black t-shirt and plain blue jeans. She noted with delight that he was taller than she was, and that he even seemed genuinely sorry that he bumped into her. "Not a problem," Amane said with a mischievous grin, "Buy me coffee and I'll forgive you completely."

The man smiled back at her, winking, "Read my mind." As they reached the counter, he preceded to purchase both drinks (Amane noticed happily that the girls at the counter were staring at her with something like envy, and they called the boy by name: Malik), and then he steered Amane toward a favorite booth of his.

Amane blinked, looking around the cozy little cafe. It was quite cute (as were the men who frequented it), and she noticed with a flutter of excitement that this guy -whoever he was- seemed to be flirting with her. This as like a shot of adrenaline right into her veins. They chatted animatedly for a long while, before Malik mentioned the word motorcycle.  
And Amane was sold. This guy was something like perfect, and she had to have a taste before he slipped through her fingers. "Well... maybe you could take me for a ride?" She asked, looking up at him through her thick eyelashes, her left hand resting lightly in his inner thigh. "I'd really love to see your bike."

"Yeah," Malik said, obviously quite distracted. "Are you free? Right now, I mean."

Amane checked her watch. "Well, I do have someplace to be in an hour," She said, noting that she still set up false time constraints with men to keep them interested. She fought a giggle; she really needed to quit reading so many trashy magazines. "But, I'm sure there is enough time for a ride..."

* * *

Ryou was flipping a page, leaning against the check out counter at the small bookstore he worked in several days during the week. He glanced at the clock in the mostly empty store, seeing that was about time for his break. He exchanged a wordless glance with his coworker, a perky blonde girl who never seemed to look as if she actually belonged in this dusty little book shop. Ryou stepped away from the counter, crossing the floor to the door, bells tinkling as he stepped outside. He ducked into a nearby cafe, where he ordered a coffee and a muffin, and took a seat to enjoy the remaining twenty minutes of his break.

However, just then his pocket began buzzing. Raising an eyebrow, Ryou reached into his jacket and withdrew his mobile phone. "Hello?"

"Hey Ryou," Yuugi said brightly. Ryou had to smile slightly; it seemed that his friend was finally starting to adjust to calling him by his given name. Ryou just couldn't allow the confusion between himself and the Thief to continue, and he had asked them to call him Ryou when it was obvious that the confusion would have continued indefinitely.

"Hello Yuugi," Ryou greeted him, smiling. "How are you?"

"Good, good," Yuugi answered, cheerful as ever. "I was wondering if you wanted to come out with the group of us tonight? Anzu wants a group of us to go dancing."

"Sure, sounds great," Ryou said. He blinked a few times. "Is it alright if I bring someone along?"

"Really? Sure! That would be fantastic," Yuugi said, obviously excited. "Can I ask who this person is?"

"Well, it's a long story. The short version is that Bakura turned up on my doorstep with my little sister Amane yesterday," Ryou said quickly, before launching into a summarized version of Amane's story to Yuugi, trying to force it all out before he could ask too many questions. "So, would it be alright if I brought her along?"

"That would be great," Yuugi said. "I know that we'll all be quite excited to meet her! I'll talk to you later, Ryou!"

"See you then!"

* * *

"I hate television," Bakura muttered to himself, turning off his television set, and turning to face the back of his sofa.

It was an awful day. Awful, terrible... This was the worst he'd felt... Ever? Since his family died? He had no idea. He didn't particularly care how bad it was... it was just that he didn't know what to do with himself. He was disgusted with himself for being so disgusted with himself. As Bakura rolled over again, restless, he cursed his situation. Why the hell had he been brought back? There was no rhyme or reason to it (as least as far as he could see). Just dropped back on Earth, alone, without any of the reasons that had kept him trapped there for thousands of years. Rolling over again, Bakura cursed his place on the planet.

_Why the hell was he even here? _There was no reason. No Items, which meant no _real_ revenge against the Pharaoh. No Zorc, which meant that Bakura had lost his major source of power (as well as the one thing which kept his pesky emotions at bay). And no Ryou, which meant that, for the most part, Bakura had been forced to navigate the modern world without assistance from the only person he would have trusted to actually assist him.

He rolled over a third time, feeling annoyed. It was true that he trusted Ryou. Not that he would ever _trust_ the boy with that knowledge (because if Ryou were smart, he'd use the information against him... and Ryou seemed to have grown much smarter in Bakura's time away). The boy, however, was likely much too kind to actually warp, turn, use somebody's trust against them... no, Bakura doubted his hikari would even use it against _him_. He'd felt it, dealt with it for much of his life. Of course he'd value trust...

So, then, Bakura growled uncomfortably, he couldn't use that excuse to avoid telling the boy he was probably the only person the former Thief King actually trusted.

He simply did not want Ryou to know. Because Ryou hated him, and why tell a person who hates you that you'd probably trust them with your life?

Ugh, this was frustrating and stupid and Bakura was beginning to feel ill over all these thoughts (or maybe it was the hangover) and he just hated the day and it was times like these that he could actually believe that he could have actually tried to destroy the world because the world, while unkind and cruel and disgusting, was simply too confusing to be dealt with and the shadows were easier because they were dark and terrifying but they were straight forward and they never changed.

And he decided to sleep away this day, and hopefully the rest of his pathetic existence.

* * *

_Don't panic. _

_Don't panic, don't panic.  
_

_Don'tpanicdon'tpanicdon'tpanic.  
_

Ryou was entirely aware that he was panicking, but he could not seem to calm himself down. He'd arrived back at his apartment at about six thirty, and was somewhat confused that Amane hadn't returned by then. She'd left so early; she ought to be home by then... So, sighing to himself, Ryou had resolved to call his sister at the number she'd left for him. On his first try, the phone rang twice before going to her voice mail. Sighing, Ryou waited two minutes, and dialed the number again.

It went directly to voice mail.

_"Hey, it's Amane. I'm obviously too busy to take your call, but I'll get back to you soon... unless this is that bloke from Surrey I met a few weeks back... I am _not _calling you back, alright? Quit leaving me messages! But everybody else, peace and love!"_

Ryou was a bit aggravated. Well, more than a bit. And more than aggravated. More like, he was terrified and angry. He'd only just learned his sister was still living; Ryou didn't think he could handle hearing that he'd lost her again. Not now, not after everything finally seemed to be going his way. Not after Amane had suddenly returned; he could not live through another person telling him he'd lost his only family for a second time. No, he just couldn't. Ryou raked a hand through his hair, calling her a third time and getting no answer. Where _the hell_ had she gotten to? Amane only knew two people in this whole city...

Ryou halted his pacing (which he hadn't even noticed he'd been doing).

Amane knew _two_ people.

And she didn't seem to understand why everybody kept their distance from that Thief. She didn't hate him like everyone else did, because she didn't know him.

_Shit.  
_

Without thinking, Ryou grabbed his black pea coat, shoved his arms through it, and dashed out of his apartment with the one destination in mind that he swore he'd never go to.

The trip didn't take long. Ryou knew the route fairly well, despite having never actually visited the Thief in the time since the other man had lived in the place. But he had made Malik take him there once, just in case he ever did need to go there for some unidentified reason. Ryou was trying to keep himself from panicking too much; it _was _possible, albeit unlikely, that the Thief knew where Amane was and that she was completely fine. And if Ryou were running at top speed to anyone else's apartment, he might have actually been able to make himself believe that. But it was the Thief, and the Thief was terrible and awful and _evil_ and who knows what he could have done to Ryou's little sister?

After what felt like an eternity of running, Ryou had reached the building, zipped inside and up the three flights of stairs. He felt his fist pounding heavily on the door of the Thief's apartment as he tried desperately to catch his breath. Ryou banged his fist endlessly on the door, his mouth set determinedly. The Thief would answer, or he would break the door down _damn it. _"Open the door!" He founded himself shouting suddenly, "I know you're in there! Open up!" He kept driving his closed fist into the door over and over, sure now that his hand would bruise but not caring in the slightest.

"God damn it, Bakura," Ryou shouted in sheer desperation, "Open your fucking door!"

And the door swung open with a click of the lock, almost sending Ryou toppling into the Thief's apartment. The Thief himself stood in the doorway, arms folded over his chest and his eyes narrowed. He was standing barefooted, dressed in a ratty, loose fitted white t-shirt and a pair of jeans with a large hole in the left knee. His reddish brown eyes were off set by the large dark circles under them, and he looked especially pale in the half-light of the kitchen behind him. To be frank, he looked ill. Ryou's mind registered this, but before he could allow this to summon up any feelings of compassion, he reminded himself that he needed to find Amane and this Thief could have her hidden somewhere in this apartment.

"What the hell have you been carrying on about out there?" the Thief demanded, looking especially annoyed. "I'm sure my neighbors-"

Ryou silenced the Thief by grabbing him by his collar and hauling him inside,taking the other man by surprise and slamming him against the wall with force that neither the Thief or Ryou himself knew he possessed. "Where - the -_hell_- is she?" Ryou said, shoving the Thief's back into the wall with each word for emphasis. On the final word, Ryou was pleased to see the Thief's head smack sickeningly against the plaster.

"_What_ are you talking about?" His doppelganger shouted, pushing Ryou away from him hard, meanwhile exerting very little effort. He was rubbing the back of his neck irritably, and glaring at Ryou.

"What did you do with Amane?" Ryou questioned, forcing the words from clenched teeth.

"Amane?" Now the Thief's voice was laced with surprise. "I... Isn't she with you?" He finally managed, following Ryou as the other boy began frantically scanning the tiny apartment with his wide eyes.

"No," Ryou said, a note of finality in his voice. "Tell me what you've done with her. Now."

"I haven't seen her!" The Thief exclaimed, something like alarm flashing through his eyes as he watched the other turn away. "What are you doing?"

Ryou, ignoring him, had barged into his former yami's bedroom, and was viciously ripping apart the closet (he was somewhat surprised to note that it was rather well-organized, and there was a large amount of business-type attire, but he didn't bother to ask). "If you won't tell me where she is, I'll find her myself."

"I haven't seen her since yesterday," The other insisted, "What even makes you think I'd want anything to do with her? She's _your_ burden now; I'm glad to have her out of my hair!"

"Right," Ryou said, distracted. There was no sign of Amane in the apartment and his panic was beginning to mount increasingly with each passing minute. _Where was Amane?  
_

"Look, tear the place apart," The Thief said, frowning. "But she isn't here." He turned and left, and Ryou paid him no heed as he turned to search the bathroom.

"Malik?" Ryou could hear the Thief's curt voice coming from the kitchen. "Yeah, look... H-Ryou's here... I dunno, something about not being able to find Amane... Amane? His _sister_, you idiot. Seriously, we just... Anyways, have you seen her by any chance?" A pause. "Tall for a girl. A bit skinny. Same hair as him... Nose ring? ...Yeah?" Then there was silence for a moment, and Ryou halted his search, sensing that it was over. He turned to see the Thief wordlessly holding a cell phone out to him, eyebrows raised as if to say _I told you so_.

Ryou took the mobile without hesitation. "Hello?"

"Ryou! _Ryou! _Oh my God, I am _so so _sorry!" It was Amane's voice. Suddenly relief flooded his veins. She was safe. She was fine. He had overreacted, obviously, but she was _fine _and that is what mattered. "My phone died!" She explained, "And I lost track of time! I met this guy, and as it turns out you know him! He's pretty cool... We got coffee and were talking... Anyways, I am sorry I worried you! I'll be back soon, I promise! Okay?" It was silent. "...Ryou?"

"Yeah.." Ryou sighed. "I'm just glad you're okay."

"I'm sorry again," Amane said, "Really. I'll see you soon, alright? I love you!" And the line went dead. Ryou stood there, shell shocked for a few minutes. All this panic, all the paranoia... and his sister had apparently been visiting with Malik. He sighed, supposing that he really hadn't needed to come over here accusing the Thief before making a few phone calls. He looked up, somewhat sheepishly, at the Thief, half expecting the other to... react violently? He was unsure what he expected of the other; perhaps something reminiscent of their shared time together in which the Spirit of the Millennium Ring took pleasure in bringing Ryou pain and reducing his teenaged self to tears whenever the opportunity arose.

But Bakura just looked at him, head tilted as if he was confused. "She's fine then?"

Ryou nodded once.

"Hmm, that's odd. I could have _sworn_ I'd chopped her up and hidden her pieces in the walls," Bakura said, rolling his eyes. "I assume that was what you were planning on destroying next, seeing as you've done everything else, save for ripping up my floorboards."

"Shut up."

"I mean, honestly, hikari," Bakura continued, his voice mocking yet amused, "Do you honestly think that if I _had _taken her, I'd have kept her here? How stupid do you think I am?" It was obvious that he last sentence was more accurately be understood as: "You are a complete idiot."

Ryou crossed his arms over his chest, "I thought I told you to _shut up._" His eyes flashed, and to his surprise the other man's half formed commentary died in his throat.

They stood, immersed in an awkward silence. Ryou considered for a brief moment apologizing for the mess he'd caused and the accusations he'd tossed out so unthinkingly. But he shook the thought off about as quickly as it came; the Thief did not deserve an apology of any sort. He didn't deserve anything, not even the things a normal person deserved like apologies and human decency. Ryou crossed his arms, and looked disdainfully at the content of the Thief's closet, which he could see from his position outside of the bathroom was now strewn about the bedroom floor. Mostly dress shirts, several ties, and a few pairs of neatly folded pants. "What the hell is with your clothes?" Ryou finally demanded, mostly to break the silence.

"For work," The Thief just about growled.

"Work?" Ryou repeated, feeling shocked. "You have a job?"

"Yes," The other man muttered, looking at Ryou as if he was something he'd rather like to squash.

"Hn," Ryou said, not really sure what to say in response. Part of him was curious as to what the hell a thief _did_ for employment in this modern day (he suspected, by the clothes, working for some kind of mob organization), but he was too proud to actually ask. He glared at the other man, irritated that the Thief just kept looking at him like he'd lost him mind or something. Irritated that the other stood there, just looking at Ryou, and looking _like _Ryou, the younger boy felt his anger flare again. That had been the first thing Ryou had found so completely unfair about the Thief's return. It was one thing that the being who had tortured him and made his life hell for five years had returned to Earth with his own body, but it was entirely different that the other man continued to look like an artist's representation of Ryou's darker side. It infuriated Ryou every single time he saw the other man, because it was like looking into a warped mirror at the one and only thing he never wanted to see again.

It made him so angry. His whole life he'd been ignored, in favor of more adventurous Amane or overshadowed in the wake of her supposed death. And then, just when he'd been able to start forming an identity of his own, he'd been taken over by that Thief. That Thief who stole his face and took away his friends. That Thief, the one Ryou had been sure was finally gone for good after Memory World, who'd just returned, still wearing Ryou's face. He could not exist in a world where he was equated to that Monster, and it made me angry to be so powerless to change the other's existence.

"What do you want?" Ryou heard himself snapping, shooting the Thief a dark look.

"I was simply wondering if I was ever going to get my phone back," Bakura responded dryly.

"Here," Ryou said, shoving it into the other's hand. He was inexplicably furious at the Thief just now. Simply being in the same room with him seemed to make Ryou unable to carefully mask his distaste for him. "Take the damn thing."

* * *

Amane flipped Malik's phone closed. "Fuck," She muttered, handing it back to him. She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Seriously, of all the people...?"  
He stared at her, somewhat bewildered. "You... You're _Ryou's_ sister?" He shouted, sounding entirely dumbfounded. But having heard the truth now, Malik could suddenly see the similarities. White hair, thin fame, wide brown eyes. "You're Amane? Ryou's suddenly _not-dead_ sister _Amane_...? Shit. Shit. Shit." His mind raced, and suddenly Malik was acutely aware of exactly how much physical damage Ryou could inflict on him with a little force and a large weapon. He shook his head violently, attempting to clear away those images.

She put her hand on her hip, fixing the Egyptian with a severe look. "And you are...?"

"Malik Ishtar," He said somewhat lamely, his cheeks flushing as he realized he'd never even given her his name.

"Malik? As in the drunk Malik who called at four this morning?" Suddenly she recalled hearing his name at the coffee shop, and mentally kicked herself for not connecting the two.  
He nodded, running a hand through his blond hair, eyes downcast in embarrassment. "Well... this is a bit awkward now, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Amane said, shrugging. She bent down, retrieving her panties from where they lay on the floor. Amane stepped into them, and preceded to tug on her jeans. "Any chance I can get you to drop me off?" She asked, as if nothing even remotely unusual had happened at all. "I'm kinda thinking that Ryou's about having a heart attack right now, and keeping him waiting while I attempt to navigate my way back to his place will likely just kill him outright."

Malik shrugged. "Yeah, I can give you a lift," He looked quite confused as he too began to step into his pants. "_Fuck_, Ryou is going to kill me."

"Unlikely," Amane said, grinning. "Unless you can't keep your mouth shut." She paused, eyes hard. "You _can _keep your mouth shut, right?"

"Right," Malik said, nodding.

"Good," She sighed, sounding relieved. "Besides, I thought we agreed this was going to be a one time thing?"

"Yeah," Malik said, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck, "Of course, it was a bit of an unspoken agreement."

"Well, yeah," Amane said, grinning. "We weren't really all that interested in stimulating conversation at that cafe either."

"Well, at that point I was more interested in getting into your jeans than in learning your name." He bent to pick up his plain white t-shirt.

"Same," She giggled. "Look, if this is too awkward for you, I totally understand. We can just pretend it never happened, okay?"

"Alright," Malik said, quietly. He wasn't exactly sure if that was what he wanted, but he shrugged figuring it couldn't hurt them. He pulled his t-shirt over his head."We'll probably be seeing each other a lot as it is anyways."

"Exactly," Amane said with an affirmative nod. She tilted her head suddenly. "You've got a tattoo?"

"Uhm," Malik said, his face suddenly paler. "Something like that."

Amane shrugged, "I like it. It's pretty bold. Most guys I know wouldn't go for the whole back."

"Really, it's not what you think..."

"Regretting tattooing a passion for hieroglyphics on your back?" She giggled. "Daddy's an archeologist... Of course I go for the guy just as obsessed with Egypt as he is.." Amane rolled her eyes.

"Shut up, or your dear older brother mysteriously finds out that his precious baby sister's got pierced nipples," Malik said, giving her a somewhat playful shove (but quite obviously changing the subject).

Amane laughed, "As if I'd care that you told. Besides, he'd just want to know how you knew." Amane laughed shortly, winking at him. "Anyways, he can't complain about any of my body modification, seeing as I got super sentimental on my first tattoo," She rolled up on of her long sleeves, displaying a symbol on her right wrist. "I thought he was dead for the longest time," Amane explained, pointed to the tattoo, "It's the kanji of his name. So he wouldn't be forgotten. Never thought I'd get to see him again, but it seems a little odd now." She cleared her throat awkwardly, finally saying,

"You seem like a fun guy, Malik. We should hang out sometime. You know, after Ryou's calmed down and I can figure out how to turn off the tracking device he'll probably install on me the second I walk in."

"Yeah, sure," Malik said, grinning. "Now let's get your back to your neurotic brother before he decides to mount my head above his mantle."

"At least it would be something nice to look at in the morning," Amane snorted.

* * *

Bakura raised an eyebrow at Ryou's disdainful tone. Having been proved innocent, and actually helping to locate the person he'd been accused of kidnapping (or murdering, Bakura wasn't entirely sure on exactly what his-damn it- at what Ryou had thought), he'd expected at least a microscopic change of attitude. He pocketed his cell phone, raising an eyebrow at his -damn it- at Ryou. "Something else on your mind?" He didn't know what the hell prompted him to ask, but the look in the other boy's eyes unnerved him somewhat. Since when had his -no- since when had _Ryou _(damn it, the name isn't that difficult) been able to hold such anger in his eyes? Such resentment and disdain? Bakura knew the answer was simple: since he'd influenced the boy's life. But he had hoped -he'd been certain- that staying away would have let the boy...smooth the jagged edges of his anger? It would have calmed him, returned him to his natural state of pleasant passivity. But here Ryou stood, just as hurt, just as angry, just as full of hate as Bakura had left him.

Ryou's eyes flashed at Bakura's question. "I hate you." Three words, so simple, tossed out with ease of familiarity. Bakura was used to this; he'd become accustomed to it in the six months he'd attempted to make things right with his hikari... Damn it. But something inside him, something so raw and so _human _was... put off by this obvious fact. Annoyed... no, that wasn't quite it. It almost _hurt _to hear someone -really the _only _one- he was so undeniably connected to so blatantly state that he was hated.

Bakura felt the corners of his mouth begin to turn down in a frown, and quickly stilled the impulse. "Well, I'm hardly your biggest fan," he remarked. "You _did _just rip apart my apartment and accuse me of harming a person I have literally no interest in."

"Why did you take her in?" Ryou blurted.

"What?" Bakura demanded, though he understood the question completely.

"Why did you take her in the other night?"

Bakura sighed. Of course he was suspicious. "I just wanted to see your pretty face again, hikari," He muttered, crossing his arms.

"Why?" Ryou laughed, sarcastically, "You see it every morning in the mirror anyways," he spat.

Bakura snarled. "Look," He said, gritting his teeth. They'd had this argument before, over and over for six months, and it was really getting Bakura's nerves as well. "I am sorry that I look like you. I do not _want_ to look like you. I would much rather look like myself, but this cannot be helped."

"If it could, I'm sure Domino would really _love_ their resident horned demon with the sexually provocative appendage," Ryou said, crossing his arms.

God, he was such a _snot_ sometimes. "I'm not sure who put that idea into your head," Bakura said, his voice quiet, "But they were entirely incorrect. Once upon a time I had my own face, and it certainly wasn't horned." It was at times like these that Bakura debated just telling his light- shit- _Ryou_ about Zorc. About Kul Elna. Just so he knew, just so that the boy could know that once, so so long ago, he hadn't been this embodiment of evil. That he and Zorc hadn't always been the same... That once he had been nothing more than a mischievous child; now he was the product of a thief freed from the clutches of a pact with a demon, evil to the core because he didn't know how to be anything else. And Ryou knew that, saw _that_, and had no will to see anything more. It made Bakura sick, literally sick in the pit of his stomach, that somebody had convinced his-_no_- had convinced _Ryou_ that he was Zorc. He'd been part of Zorc, wrapped up in his existence, _but he hadn't always been him_. Bakura had been his own person, with his own appearance, and he was just so frustrated that his hikari- oh, fuck it- did not know this.

"Right," Ryou scoffed. "I'll just be going then." He turned on his heel, leaving a frustrated Bakura standing in his destroyed living room feeling an inexplicable sense of defeat.


	6. Chapter 6

**Hey everyone! I just wanted to apologize for the delay in the update first of all. Part of this is due to the fact that my beta, Tet of 1999, decided to sit on this chapter for over two weeks before I decided to just post it without having my beta look it over. **

**Not that it is all his fault, of course, I just wanted to give him a hard time about it.**

**Really, life just got a little crazy with the school year approaching.  
**

**So, just wanted to mention again that I own nothing but the ideas I put into this fanfic. **

**Enjoy, and please review!**

**Chapter Playlist: **

**Chapter 6  
**1. Medicine Man - The Hush Sound  
2. Beautiful, Dirty, Rich - Lady Gaga  
3. Bulletproof - La Roux  
4. So Happy I Could Die - Lady Gaga  
5. A Lack of Color - Death Cab For Cutie

_**Chapter Six**_

Ryou returned to his apartment, having managed to cool himself down before he got there. The rage which ha consumed him in the Thief's apartment had simmered somewhat, replaced by an almost welcome sense of familiar irritation. Taking a few deep breaths to rid himself of any lingering anger (and repeating a mantra of _I'll never have to see him again, I'll never have to see him again _over and over to himself), Ryou unlocked his front door and stepped into his home. "Amane?"

"Hey!" His sister greeted him, grinning toothily. "Sorry about earlier! Really, I hope you weren't terribly worried." Amane rubbed her arm awkwardly, peeking up at him through her bangs, looking thoroughly remorseful and ashamed. Amane was likely laying on the feelings a bit _thick_, but Ryou figured she wanted to avoid ruining the sort of seamless perfection brought out by their reunion by seeming overly apologetic for her brief disappearance.

"It's fine," Ryou said, dismissing her fears with a wave of his hand. "I am just glad you're alright." This was for the most part true; Ryou was in truth a bit annoyed that Amane hadn't thought to call him just to let him know she was fine, but mostly he was just genuinely relieved that she was alive and well... and that she hadn't become the Thief's latest victim. "Really, I am just glad you're fine. I should know by now that you can take care of yourself." Ryou beamed at his sister, simply pleased to see her standing in his kitchen, and choosing to follow her lead and over emphasize his relief and happiness. He sighed, taking off his jacket. Ryou took a seat at the kitchen table, deciding to change the topic of conversation toward something less unpleasant, "So, what did you think of Malik?"

Amane grinned, and Ryou thought he saw her ears turn pink, though they were mostly hidden behind her snowy hair. "He's pretty cool," She murmured quietly. "I really like his motorbike."

Ryou laughed. "Malik is _in love _with that bike," he said, shaking his head with an amused smile. "Thousands of people who would throw themselves at him, yet he only has eyes for his motorcycle."

Amane giggled. "Well, it's a really nice bike. In fact, I think that I might be falling in love with it a little," she said, winking at Ryou as she sauntered over to the couch and flopped onto it. "Happen to have the bike's number by chance?"

He shook his head with a smile, "No, I don't. Why don't you ask her for it yourself?" In response, Amane stuck her tongue out at her brother. He chuckled to himself.

"Right," Ryou said with a smile. He sat on opposite side of the couch from his sister, looking at his watch as he sat, his next question weighing heavily on his mind as his stomach filled with an odd sense of nerves. "So, have any plans for tonight?"

"Nope," Amane said, shaking her head. "Should I?"

"Well, I was sort of hoping to introduce you to my friends," Ryou said, feeling a bit sheepish. He wasn't entirely sure how the mechanics of a sibling relationship worked once both participants were no longer small children. He was slightly afraid that Amane would say no to his invitation, seeing as now they barely knew each other. He feared she would see the idea as too awkward, and Ryou looked over at his little sister with wide, hopeful, eyes.

"Really?" Amane said, beaming suddenly. "That would be great! I'd love to meet your friends, Ryou!"

"Great!" Ryou said with a smile, a sense of warmth spreading through him in an odd, unfamiliar way. "We were going to meet at my friend Yuugi's in about an hour, and probably head out to a club or something..."

"Very fab," Amane said, standing quickly. "I'm going to go and get ready, okay? I'll be ready in twenty?"

"Sounds good," Ryou said, smiling. He stood too, planning to go and change out of his more casual clothes from work and into something more fitting to the night's planned was suddenly far more excited for the night than he'd been when he'd received the invite. Somehow, Amane's return had filled some hole within him... A hole he hadn't truly been aware was still there until its absence. It made him almost giddy.

And it took his mind farther away from Egyptian sands and murderous thieves than it had been in ages. That, Ryou thought to himself, was something worth being excited over.

* * *

Amane followed Ryou as he lead them off in the direction of Yuugi's place. She was giddy with the prospect of getting a peek into Ryou's social world; this was partly because Amane was just thrilled to hear her brother actually _had _friends. Ryou had been such a lonely child, so cripplingly shy that he was the victim of much bullying and teasing in school. It was so exciting to hear that he not only had friends, but that she was being given a chance to meet them.

Ryou, however, seemed preoccupied with her choice of outfit. Clad in her typical black leather jacket, Amane had paired a navy blue pencil skirt she had lifted earlier in the day during her "shopping" trip with one of Ryou's t-shirts, a light blue and white striped number she'd found hidden in the back of his closet. She'd pinned her untidy white hair back into a messy bun, and lined her eyes with kohl liner.

"May I ask why you've got my shirt on?" He asked her, his eyebrows raised in an amused manner.

"Because we pretty much wear the same size, and I thought it would go well with this skirt," Amane answered, matter-of-factly. Then she turned up a cheeky grin, and asked if he minded that she'd borrowed the item.

"No, actually," Ryou said, shaking his head. "In fact, you can keep it if you want. I never wear it anymore."

"Thank you," Amane beamed, not noticing the dark look that had crossed her brother's face when he had spoken of the shirt (because who could get upset about a t-shirt?). "So, tell me again: who am I meeting?"

Ryou smiled, "Well, tonight you'll meet Yuugi for sure. He's the current reigning Duel Monsters Champion, but he's totally down to earth and probably one of the nicest people you'll meet. Then there's Atemu, who was Yuugi's dark side for the longest time. They are best friends now. Atemu was a Pharaoh in Egypt, but now he just helps to run the Kame Game Shop. He is dating Anzu, which caused a lot of drama. Anzu had been best friends with Yuugi since they were children, and it's no secret that Yuugi is in love with her. She wants to be a dancer, and she's been saving up since before we finished high school for the chance to move to New York to study dance. She's actually planning to move there in a few months time, which is causing even more drama because everyone is waiting to see if Atemu will move with her or stick around with Yuugi."

"Sounds intense," Amane commented with a grin.

"Tell me about it," Ryou said laughing and rolling his eyes. "Then there is Jounouchi, another famous duelist and one of Yuugi's closest friends. He can be a bit hot tempered, but he's well meaning and usually a good laugh. Then there is Honda, who is a close friend of Jou's. He willingly went along to cheer Jou and Yuugi on in every tournament they were in throughout high school. Oh, and Otogi."

"That guy who created Dungeon Dice Monsters?"

"Yeah, you've heard of him?" Ryou said, raising his eyebrows, a bit surprised. He didn't think she would have much interest in the gaming world.

"Some girls back home got obsessed with the game once they saw a picture of him," Amane said, rolling her eyes. "I never got into it. It was just like Duel Monsters to me."

"Don't let him hear you say that," Ryou said with a smile.

"Alright, alright."

Ryou laughed. "Well, that's everyone I think. Oh, and Malik of course, but you met him earlier."

"Sounds like a real sausage fest," Amane commented after a moment.

"I guess it is rather male heavy," Ryou admitted with a shrug. "But sometimes Jou's younger sister Shizuka hangs around. She's sweet."

"Sweet?" Amane said, wiggling her eyebrows at her brother with a grin. "Do you like her?"

"She's sweet, but a little too naive..."

Amane stopped, crossing her arms and fixing her brother with a look. "How could anybody be 'too naive' for you? I mean, _really_, at age _six_ I was less clueless about the world than you were at _eight_. I mean, come on, you didn't even know where babies came from!" They shared a laugh.

"I _knew_," He said laughing. "I just didn't _want_ to know!"

"Oh, sure..." Amane said, rolling her eyes.

"Look, you ought to know that I'm all angry and jaded now," Ryou said, still smiling. "She's just too..."

"Sunshine and rainbows?" Amane supplied, her voice understanding.

"Exactly," Ryou asserted with a nod. "Besides, she seems to have a thing for Honda anyways."

"Well, it sounds like a good time regardless of all the drama surrounding your friends," Amane said, nodding as she changed the subject back now that she wasn't getting any dishy details about her brother's apparently nonexistent love life. "I'm pretty excited to meet them, Ryou."

"I hope you still feel the same after tonight," He said with a laugh.

"I'm sure I will," Amane said grinning.

"Well, we're here," Ryou said, leading Amane inside what appeared to be a closed game shop. The bell above the door tinkled as it opened, and the group, which appeared to be a mix of people in their late teens to early twenties, all turned to face them.

"Hello everyone," Ryou said pleasantly, "This is my sister, Amane."

"Hello," Amane said, suddenly feeling the slightest bit shy as she took in the group. Two nearly identical boys with multicolored hair stood near one another; one had his arm around a tall brunette. Across the counter stood the easily recognizable Otogi, and next to him was a blond boy with brown eyes. In the mix of people, Amane's eyes found Malik (looking rather fit in his tight dark jeans... not that that detail was important) who was talking to a man with brown hair, standing next to a girl with long red hair. All of them turned to look at her, before greeting her enthusiastically.

People made their individual introductions, and Amane found it was surprisingly easy to keep all of the names straight in her head. She did note, however, that the room all but fell silent when Atemu opened his mouth, the people around him hanging on his every syllable, despite the fact that he simply greeted Amane and introduced himself. Amane found this pattern was repeated whenever the former Pharaoh opened his mouth, and this irritated her after it happened again and again. In fact, the more this man spoke, the less she found she liked him. He seemed over confident, and Amane hated the way he so blatantly flaunted his relationship with Anzu.

This only proved more irritating whenever she caught Yuugi, whom she found to be entirely sweet and kind, sneaking quick glances at the girl. She felt bad for him, truth be told. It was terrible that he had to watch his best friend date the girl he was in love with, yet it was entirely obvious that Anzu was utterly enamored with Atemu... and that Yuugi was likely just the kid from childhood to her. Amane sighed, ignoring the fact that her eyes drifted over towards Malik. Feelings were feelings; they couldn't be helped and it was always so awful when they wound up hurting someone accidentally.

After the introductions were over and all of the friends had caught up with one another, they all donned their jackets (save for Amane and Ryou, who hadn't bothered to take theirs off) and headed for the exit. The group tended to travel in twos and threes. Ryou, Malik, and Otogi. Honda, Jou, and Shizuka. Atemu and Anzu. Amane chose to keep close to Yuugi. "So, what's this place we're heading to like?"

Yuugi turned to her with a bright smile, "Oh, I like it. Fairly big, doesn't card if you're looking to drink at all... From what I gathered, you're still underage here right?" He laughed, and Amane found it rather infectious and fought the urge to giggle somewhat inappropriately, "The music is typically pretty good, too."

"Yeah?" Amane said, smiling because she found Yuugi's unwavering grin rather contagious. "Great! I haven't gone out in ages, I bet I'll make a fool of myself out on the dance floor. Total klutz, which can get embarrassing.. but I swear I haven't hospitalized anybody in years!"

They paused to laugh for a moment,"Well, that is probably a good thing."

Amane smiled, "I'd say so. I'm really trying to shake that reputation I had back in school... I mean, really, you manage to trip four people, and the second somebody gets rushed off to the hospital they label you the Killer Klutz!" More laughter, and then she finally choked out, "But, really, I just love dancing."

Amane studied Yuugi's face at her words; his smile faltered ever so slightly, and his eyes darted quickly over to where Anzu and Atemu were walking hand in hand. She could have kicked herself; likely Amane's words had reminded Yuugi of Anzu, the dancer who run off with his heart (and then his best friend). "So, are you excited to get to spend time with your brother?" Yuugi asked, changing the subject quickly and effectively.

"Yes," Amane said, nodding. "It's a relief just to know he's alive. I'm thrilled to get to spend time with him again; we haven't seen each other in ten years. The situation is just so surreal." She smiled.

"So, do you have any siblings?"

"Nope," Yuugi said, still smiling. "It's just me and my Grandpa. Oh, and Atemu of course. He's the closest thing I've got to a brother, I suppose. Though we're probably a bit closer than most siblings; I mean, we used to share a mind! We know everything about each other."

"I still cannot believe some of the stuff Ryou's told me," Amane admitted, shaking her head. "I'm a little relieved see that it all _really_ happened, and to hear that he isn't crazy." She giggled, and Yuugi joined her.

"It is a bit hard to swallow if you weren't there living it," he nodded, looking almost sheepish about his fantastical past. "Oh, look!" Yuugi said, pointing ahead. "We're here!"

"Awesome," Amane said, and as secretly as she could, reached into her pocket and popped the pill she'd recovered into her mouth.

* * *

Ryou was sitting at the bar with Jounouchi and Malik, looking rather intimidated as a third shot was set down in front of him.

"Gentlemen," Malik said, with a big grin, "Bottoms up."

"Honestly, man," Jou said after gulping down his shot without so much as a grimace, "I have no idea how you do it. What the hell keeps you running, Malik? You've got to be constantly hungover."

Malik shrugged, "I'm just better at drinking than most people."

"Quite skilled," Ryou muttered, recalling the four am phone call from a drunk and panicked Malik, bemoaning his terrible decision to hook up with some bar whore on the Thief's couch of all places.

"How's your drinking buddy, by the way?" He asked, fighting to hide his smile from the Egyptian.

"Wouldn't say that he's all too pissed at me," Malik answered, pausing to order a fourth round of shots, "From the text he sent me, you're the one who saw him last."

"He can text...?" Ryou wondered vaguely, but it went unheard by the other reactions to be had.

"What's that now?" Jounouchi interrupted, looking confused and almost angry. "Ryou, have you been hanging out with Bakura?"

"No," Ryou said, holding his hands up somewhat defensively., as if he'd been accused of something more than being within thirty feet of someone. "No, I am not hanging out with him or anything of the sort. I just... I've run into a few times lately."

Malik snorted. "That's Ryou-speak for 'Kura is the one who found Amane, and he was nice enough to deliver her to her exceptionally appreciative older brother."

"Eh?" Jou said, as if this had baffled him more than the idea of Bakura and Ryou hanging around together. "Well, that's a bit... off for him, isn't it? Shouldn't he be out holding up banks or plotting world domination or something?" He motioned for the round Malik had purchased to be consumed, which Ryou did without even flinching when the liquid burned its way down his throat. "Seriously, though, Ryou. You ought to avoid that guy."

Ryou frowned. "I do," He protested, rather offended that Jou seemed to be under the impression that he actively sought out the Thief for company. Ryou really did not appreciate the assumption, and he suspected it likely stemmed from his friends' confusion about the exact dynamics of his relationship with his darker half. The fact that they still seemed uncertain over whether or not Ryou, even separated from the Thief, was worthy or their trust. "And how come it's okay for Malik to hang around him, but if I do it sends you into some sort of lecture on how he's a bad influence?"

Jounouchi shrugged. "I know that Malik has mostly given up on world domination, so that's out," He said slowly, sipping on the beer he had ordered. "Plus, even if the two of you hate each other, there's still the fact that he was in your head forever. He could use that to totally fuck with you, and nobody wants to see that happen to you again Ryou."

Ryou blinked a few times, feeling almost giddy at Jou's roundabout expression of concern for him... though it might have just been the shots. "Thanks," He muttered, feeling sort of awkward yet pleased at the same time. "I'll just try my best to continue avoiding him."

"Yeah, I'm sure he'll appreciate that," Malik laughed. When the two turned their brown eyes on the tan blond, looking at him with wide eyes, he shrugged. "I'm sorry. I feel sorta sorry for the guy. He's got nobody here, and you all go out of your way to avoid him."

"He tried to get us all killed," Jou countered, hands flying up in obvious annoyance with Malik's comment.

"So did I!" Malik protested, but it was more like a meek omission than a defense for the Thief. Ryou idly wondered why Malik constantly insisted on defending the Thief to their group of friends. He supposed it was likely because the two outsiders had formed an unlikely bond, and while Malik had eventually been accepted into the group upon appearing in Domino and apologizing profusely, Bakura was still pariah and it was always a source of disagreement whenever Ryou's darker half was mentioned in a way that wasn't overtly negative. Simply put, nobody really wanted to spend anytime with the Thief, regardless of whether or not he had changed since Memory World.

"Yeah, but you're a total wimp now," Jou said, laughing as he poked Malik in the side, watching as the former villain narrowed his eyes but did little else . "Bakura on the other hand...?" He trailed off, sipping his beer again. "Let's just say that I wouldn't want to meet him in a dark alley." He shook his head.

Ryou wondered if to some extent that Jou's statement was true. While Malik had changed drastically, becoming a much more subdued version of his crazed Battle City self, Bakura still appeared to hold tightly to his unfriendly and violent tendencies, which was a large part of the reason why Ryou had severed contact with him. He tried to ignore the voice of reason in his brain, which told him that the Thief has changed in more subtle ways than Malik, but he was beginning to have to fight harder and harder against the voice when the image of a nearly ill looking Thief from earlier in the night would flash across his brain. The other man had not only barely resisted while his apartment was wrecked, he'd located Amane and had treated her kindly with no prompting from Ryou at all. Granted, he'd been an ass the whole time... though this could simply be because Ryou had nearly pounded his door down and immediately accused him of one or more felonies. Ryou was honestly debating calling the Thief to apologize for his rather atrocious bad manners when Jounouchi interrupted his thoughts.

"So," Jou said, obviously planning to change the subject from talk of Bakura and Malik's past, "How come none of us knew you had a sister until today?"

Ryou shrugged, feeling slightly embarrassed that he hadn't mentioned Amane to his friends in all the time they had known each other. "Honestly, as crazy as it sounds, until yesterday I'd thought she'd been dead for ten years. I took her... her erm 'death' very hard. We'd been very close as kids, and I just didn't want you and the others to pity me for it I guess." He summarized for Jou and Malik the hows and whys in the reasons he had had no idea that his sister had been alive for a decade.

"Damn," Malik said, shaking his head. "Okay, your grandmother gets to compete in the crazy and manipulative family members competition too. Welcome to the club."

"Thanks, I think," Ryou said with a smile. He felt his mobile vibrate in his pocket, and he pulled it out to see a text message from sender Amane. Opening it, he read, "Having a blast, Yuugi's great! Where are u?" Her brother grinned widely, texting her back that they were at the far end of the bar. Within a few minutes, he spotted Amane (and Yuugi, who she seemed to be dragging along by his wrist) making her way to where they sat around the bar.

"Hello!" She greeted them all, waving. Malik and Jounouchi waved back to her. "We needed to escape Honda and Otogi's terrible attempts to flirt with Shizuka before we started laughing too loudly. It is just so sad."

Jounouchi frowned for an instant, then shrugged it off. Ryou supposed he was likely used to that sort of spectacle by now. "Okay then, Yuug? Amane? What are we drinking?"

Yuugi wandered up to the bar to order for himself, and after a moment Amane simply shouted over the now deafening music, "I'll have whatever he's having!"

Ryou watched his sister take the seat beside him, and calmly take her drink from the bartender who seemed to be eyeing her with a sense of curiosity. As he pondered this, he felt his phone vibrate again in his pocket. The message he received read, "That bartender is totally checking you out. ;)"

Ryou snorted, and texted her a response saying, "His eyes have been glued on you, I'm afraid."

"Jealous, are we now?"

"Hardly. So not my type."

"Right, and I'm guessing you'll never tell me what IS your type."

"Never."

"Have you seen Otogi's shirt? Or lack thereof?"

"lol. Yes, I noticed that he's only got that vest on."

"Classy."

"That's Otogi. Classiest hooker in Domino."

"Ouch, Ry. Rather harsh, no?"

"No. ;)"

Amane leaned over to him, and laughing in his ear asked him, "How long have you been the fashion police?"

"Since he wore that vest," Ryou said smoothly. "It is awful."

"Yes, yes," She nodded vigorously, "Not to mention he's got an arseload of cologne on, so you can smell him coming."

"Might work to his disadvantage," Ryou said, nodding in a would-be wise manner. "Perhaps he'll warn unsuspecting girls with his odorous presence."

"Sadly, I think he's trying to attract them that way," Amane said, hanging her head in embarrassment.

"Trying way too hard," Ryou agreed with his sister, eyeing the drink she held with mild apprehension.

"Drink it, it is good for your health," Amane said, raising an eyebrow at her brother's scared expression. "Drink it. Peer pressure, damn it!"

Ryou laughed, and still smiling, took a tentative sip of the drink that had been placed in front of him. He was surprised that it did not burn his throat like acid on the way down. He smiled a bit wider (ignoring the fact that after so many shots, the alcohol was likely the thing making everything seem so much more pleasant). There he was, out having a drink with his sister. She was not dead. His family, which had been laid to rest as something of the distant past, so tragic and sad, had been revived ever so slightly in her reappearance.

"So, why did Bakura call Malik looking for me earlier? And why were you with him?" Amane asked, knocking Ryou out of his thoughts. She looked especially confused about these events, and she wore a frown on her porcelain face. "I was under the impression that you hated him... I don't know about you, but I don't normally make a habit of volunteering to spend time with somebody I hate."  
"I do hate him," Ryou affirmed, noting the steely tone his voice adapted when discussing the other man. "I was there... looking for you."

Amane laughed. "Why would I have been there?"

"You're new in town, you'd only met him so far," Ryou said quickly, noting the heat he felt pooling in his cheeks. "I was worried you'd run into him or something... And I just simply do not trust him."

"But, he was the first person that you called for help?" Amane asked.

"No, because I was afraid he'd done something to you," Ryou admitted lamely.

"Be not afraid, dearest brother," Amane said with a wide smile, "Your sister has learned much in the time she was 'dead.' That guy cannot touch me, I know this as a fact... Now, let's have another drink!"

* * *

Hours upon hours had been spent dancing with the group, laughing and talking with Ryou and Yuugi (and occasionally Malik and Jounouchi), and generally staying as far away from Atemu and Anzu as she could because Yuugi had chosen to stick to her like glue, and navigating awkward situations just simply wasn't what Amane was best at. She spent a lot of time on the dance floor with Shizuka, making a fool of herself in the heels she'd chosen to wear (after having chosen to take them earlier in the day whilst "shopping"). After a little while, Amane slipped outside to sneak a cigarette without attracting Ryou's attention (this wasn't hard seeing as Jounouchi had started dumping drinks down her brother's neck not long after they arrived and Ryou was quite obviously unskilled compared to the blond when it came to drinking, and was, in short, utterly wasted). Once out in the cool night air, lit cigarette between her fingers, Amane heaved a huge sigh. She felt good. No, more than good. Great. Fantastic. Amazing. So so _so_ much better than she'd been feeling for the past few weeks. Past few suffocating months in dreary England with her insane grandmother. This was good. This was _happy. _Or as close to happy as she was going to get.

This, she was beginning to think, was something she could get used to.

The door burst open, and Malik stepped outside. "Oh, there you are!"

"Oh," Amane said, wide eyed. She sincerely hoped Malik wasn't going to go and tattle on her to Ryou (who had always hated smoking since it was a habit of their grandfather's (who had died of lung cancer), along with the vast majority of the vices Amane had picked up over the years), and she sheepishly made to stub out her smoke.

"Don't worry about it," Malik said, holding up his hands. "I'm not going to tell on you."

"Right then," Amane said, taking a drag and smiling. "What's up?"

"Just needed some air," Malik said, shrugging. "Can I bum a smoke?"

Amane laughed, handing him one. They were quite while she lit his cigarette for him, and then laughed. "I'm sure that statement meant something like you needed a break from all of your adoring fans," she said with a smirk. Malik's tan face blanched. Most of the night, the boy had been mobbed by a gaggle of girls all attempting in various sad ways to flirt with the Egyptian. He had resisted all of these advances, typically with an air of disgust at their revealing attire and obnoxious make-up.

"Seriously, that is possible the weirdest part of my life these days," Malik said quietly. "I hate it. It freaks me out whenever I'm sober enough to notice," He paused. "That makes me sound like I'm a total club rat who is wasted nearly all the time. I'm not, promise... I just tend to drink when I _do _go out and that's normally when this sort of thing happens and you probably are beginning to think I'm a bit creepy because I keep babbling on like this, and all together I've now made a complete fool of myself," He paused, at long last, to take a breath. Amane laughed, but said nothing. "I suppose, to me, it makes literally no sense what so ever that so many people seem attracted to me... I mean, really? It's just strange." He shook his head, taking a long drag on his cigarette and then blowing it out in a long stream.

Amane was staring at him as if he'd grown a second, and then third head. "Well," She said slowly, dragging on her cigarette as she thought over her words. "If you look at it from my point of view, it makes a lot more sense. Breaks down to a few simple key points. First, you're damn sexy. Second, there's no ring on your finger. And third, it seems to the casual onlooker that you are awesome in bed..." She paused, exhaling smoke. "Which, you are by the way. Never did get the chance to boost your ego earlier." She winked.

Malik shrugged uncomfortably, but said nothing.

"Look," Amane said, smiling. "I'm sure it gets uncomfortable, but you could always see it as a compliment. Hell, I'd love having everyone around me salivate whenever I walked into a room."

Malik snorted, then coughed as he inhaled smoke sharply. "People do, you know."

"Bullshit," Amane giggled. "Nobody wants to get with the freaky girl with the hair of a ninety year old." She dropped the butt of her cigarette on the ground and stubbed it out with toe of her stilettos.

"Well, Yuugi seems pretty taken with you," He commented.

"Oh?" Amane looked sincerely confused. "I think he's a nice guy, but it is so obvious that he only has eyes for Anzu, who obviously only has eyes for Atemu..."

Malik laughed. "Yeah, that was quite the dramatic twist a few months back."

"I feel pretty bad for him," Amane said, frowning. "He seems like a really sweet guy."

"That he is," Malik said, nodding. "He's almost _too_ nice. Most people wouldn't just smile and say 'Congrats' when their best friend gets with the girl they've loved most of their life."

"Yeah," Amane said, pulling a face. "Shit, I couldn't get over something like that. I mean, Jesus... People who fuck with me and the people I care about? They rarely go long without getting a piece of my mind or a foot in their ass."

"Oh yes, you're quite intimidating," Malik snorted, looking her thin frame up and down, as he dropped his own cigarette and stubbed it out. "Ooh, real scary."  
Amane's eyes flashed, without much thought to what she was doing, and she pulled her knife from her jacket pocket, switching it open in one swift motion. He was pissing her off, and her mood had turned sour without a moment to ponder it. She absolutely _hated _it when people underestimated her; nothing made her blood boil quite like that sort of slap in the face. She had lived on the streets, for God's sake. Amane was hardly somebody to be scoffed at like that. "Laugh it up, _babe_," She snarled. "I'm sure you could live on just one kidney."

"Whoa," Malik said, lavender eyes wide in shock and (possibly) fear. "I'm... I'm sorry"

"Yeah, I'll bet you are," Amane all but growled.

"Just, calm down, okay?" Malik said, hands raised defensively.

"Whatever," Amane spat, eyes uncertain as she returned her weapon to her pocket.

"Really," Malik said, still looking apprehensive. "I'm sorry."

Amane shrugging, heading back inside without another word.

* * *

"Who do you keep texting?" Yuugi asked, peering over at Ryou, seated beside him at the bar, who had flipped his phone closed for the tenth time that night.

"Nobody..." Ryou said quickly, hoping that the smaller boy had not watched as his phone saved yet another draft of a text message to Bakura. It was another variation on, "I still hate you, you're still an ass, but I am sorry I wrecked your apartment and accused you of murder." Though many versions had simply been to delete the "I hate you" portion. Because, removed from the situation by four years now, Ryou found it was taking more and more effort to hate the Thief full out. He still hated him of course, but it had faded to nothing more than a faint dislike unless he was trying (or the Thief was actually present). Until lately, Ryou really hadn't spent much time trying to hate the Thief. He'd had more interesting things to devote the effort to, like college and his work and something that left him feeling more positive. Ryou cleared his throat loudly, and rubbed the back of his neck. "It's nothing. No worries."

"The screen appeared to say you were sending a text to Bakura..." Yuugi said, quietly so that only Ryou could hear. "Now, I can't say that I completely agree with the others who keep encouraging you to stay away from him completely. But, I just want to make sure you know what you're doing if you're going to get back in touch with him, Ryou."

"We were hardly 'in touch' back then," Ryou said, rolling his eyes. "I just... I don't really want to associate with him at all. But he did help Amane find me, and then I turn around accuse him of... never mind. The point is that he didn't even do it, and I feel just a tad bit bad for it."

Yuugi shrugged, not bothering to ask for an explanation. "Look, if you want to talk to him, that is your decision. But tonight is supposed to be a fun night to get the whole group together! Not to watch you stress about him!"

"But-"

"No," Yuugi said, his eyes determined. "You can talk to him... or not talk to him for that matter, in the morning. Whatever you decide, it can wait for daylight. Now, give me your phone."

"No!" Ryou protested, but Yuugi's eyes narrowed. "What if I need it?"

Yuugi narrowed his violet eyes, determination radiating from him.

"Fine," Ryou muttered, closing the phone and handing it off to Yuugi. The smaller boy placed it in the pocket of his simple blue jeans, and smiled broadly up at Ryou.

"Don't you feel better now?"

"Not exactly..." Ryou admitted, watching as Shizuka wandered her way over towards them. "Hello Shizuka," He said, relieved that with her presence she bought the opportunity for a subject change.

"Hey Ryou! Hey Yuugi!" She said brightly, her eyes closing in a wide smile. "How's the night been?"

"Good, good," Yuugi answered for them. "And yours?"

"Great," Shizuka said. "I was wondering if either of you had seen Amane? I need a break from the constant Otogi and Honda tension out on the dance floor," She pointed to where the two men seemed to be attempted to out dance the other.

"She actually slipped off a little while ago," Ryou said, frowning slightly. "I wonder where she got to," He said, turning slightly as if to get up and search for her.

"I'm sure she'll turn up," Yuugi insisted with a smile. "The two of you should go dance! I'll find her, okay?"

"I'm not sure..." Ryou never got to finish because that the exact moment Shizuka said, "Great!" and dragged him by the wrist out onto the dance floor, all the while Ryou could see Yuugi's laughing eyes staring after him.

* * *

Yuugi grinned as Amane returned from outside. "Hey," He greeted her.

"Hullo," She responded, her voice hardly the animated one it had been prior to going outside. Her whole appearance had seemed to dull since her return. The light was gone from her eyes, her smile was faded. She shrugged, somewhat listless, and dragged a hand through her white hair.

"Oh, I got you a drink," Yuugi said brightly, pushing the neon green liquid towards her. Amane instantly brighten, and she eagerly took a gulp out of the tall glass.

"My God, thank you," She said a moment later with a large grin plastered on her face. "You've refreshed my life force."  
He giggled, which in turn made Amane giggle. After a moment of literally pointless giggles and snorts, Yuugi took a calming breath and wiped a tear from his eyes. "Wow, I can't remember the last time I laughed like that..."

"Pointless laughter is the spice of life!" Amane giggled, realizing that it had more to do with Yuugi's infectious high spirits than with the number of drinks she had had that night.

"I always thought that was variety..." Yuugi said with a grin.

"That too, my new friend," Amane said. She winked at him, and the two set off on another pointless fit of laughter.

"I think," Yuugi said after a moment, "That I may have had a few too many."

"You can never have too many! In fact, have another!"

They received another round of drinks amid laughter and inexplicable giggles. After a moment was taken to calm themselves, "Ryou's dancing with Shizuka," Yuugi said, pointing out the rather awkward pair on the dance floor.

"Cute," Amane said with a snort. She eyed the awkward jerking dance of her intoxicated brother, the twirls Shizuka was literally doing around it, and she shook her head in shame. "That is simply tragic," She clucked her tongue. "Did you want to dance with me?" She asked suddenly, standing up suddenly. "Show them up a bit?"

"Oh?" Yuugi said, looking surprised. "Sure, I guess. I don't usually dance..." His eyes darted quickly to where Atemu and Anzu were tangled around each other in a near nauseating display of intertwined limbs. "I mean, yes, I'd love to."

"C'mon," Amane said, grinning again. "If nothing else, Anzu's watching you like a hawk. Make her see you don't plan on waiting around like a lovesick puppy forever." She winked at him.

"Yeah," Yuugi said, smiling widely. "Sounds like a plan!"

"Come on, we'll go find you a nice lesbian," Amane said, smiling widely.

And the two spent most of the night dancing clumsily and laughing (and drinking) freely, all the while both pairs of eyes were fixated on members of their "audience," hardly oblivious to the fact that they were being carefully observed by several pairs of envious light eyes.

* * *

Ryou noted that life always seemed more... _something_ whenever he had a drink. He couldn't quite name this _somethingelseness_, but usually it was fun and pleasant and it made it easier just to exist rather than be overly concerned about the things he was doing while existing. Granted, these thoughts were hardly a transcript of his _actual _thoughts (well, other than "somethingelseness," which was positively his). Ryou was far too intoxicated to actually be thinking so clearly.

In fact, the clearest thought in his head at the time was that his head seemed unbelievably heavy for some reason, and this was undoubtedly _hilarious_ because his head was heavy. He was giggling happily, chatting animatedly to Jou who was currently taking a piss on the side of a building in plain view of the whole group as they attempted to navigate their way back toward the Game Shop. Yuugi and Amane had starting impersonating lumberjacks while singing loudly about how they "sleep all night and work all day." The tune seemed somehow familiar, but Ryou couldn't place in in his mind because his head was heavy and it was hard to think at the moment because it was just nice to not have to think.

Because he was _really_ sick of thinking these days.

"Am I a bad person?" He asked, turning to face Malik who was looking simply murderous over in Yuugi's direction. Yuugi appeared to have tumbled into Amane's arms... he also appeared to have on her extremely tall heels. Ryou laughed about this, but the moment died suddenly and he looked to his friend, anxious for his answer.

"Yes," Malik responded, sounding somewhat distracted.

"So, should I be nicer to him or something then?"

"Whatever," Malik said, sounding annoyed. "Who the hell sings about Lumberjacks?"

Ryou rolled his eyes, which only seemed to make his head heavier, but this was quite amusing and thus the giggles escaped him in quick bursts.

"I put on women's clothing, and hang around in bars!" Yuugi was singing merrily and every single, everything was happy and pleasant and wonderful and Yuugi did have on women's shoes, so it was fitting and it was all quite fun and quite good and he just liked the weightlessness about the whole feeling. He smiled.

Ryou paused for a moment, because the pleasantness was beginning to hurt his teeth.

Amane appeared suddenly, so suddenly, and her arm went around his shoulders (the other was around Yuugi's). "You know," she said to him and he could smell the alcohol on her breath and part of him debated disapproving of this but it was easily talked down by the part that was insisting that spinning in a circle while crying, "WEEEE!" would be a simply fantastic idea and besides, they'd had a drink together. Hadn't they? "So..." She said, her tongue not slipping over the word too terribly. "How about that? Miss 'Muffin Basket Full of Rainbow Kisses' and you were awfully cozy."  
"Yeah, sure," Ryou responded, even though he knew he was actually dancing with Shizuka earlier in the night though it was because she had asked him or perhaps Yuugi had asked him (he couldn't really remember) and he had been doing very little else at the time and had had just enough to drink that it had seemed like a good idea at the time.

"She is nice, but soooo not your type," Amane was saying, though Ryou was having a bit of difficulty understanding her because he was so giddy and his head was so heavy and his tongue was so thick.

"And why not?"

"Because I said so and I get to decide these things," She answered, sticking out her tongue at her brother. "C'mon, we'll go back to the club and find you a nice lesbian, okay?" Amane giggled uncontrollably, clinging to Yuugi who was barely holding himself up.

"Shut up," Ryou heard himself all but whine, and this too was funny.

"Oh my God," Yuugi said suddenly, wrapping his arm tightly around Amane's shoulders. "I'm... I'm gonna write you a song! Aaaaaaamaaaaaaaaaneee! You're soooooooo cooool!"  
Amane giggled happily, and noticed Atemu walking towards them, looking at his light rather oddly.

"Oh damn, I am so sorry," Yuugi slurred to his other, "I am going to be sooooo embarrassed tomorrow." He stuck his tongue out suddenly, then whined, "Are we home yet?"

"No, not yet," Atemu answered, seeing as it appeared he was the person nominated to stay sober that night.

"Oh gods, I am so embarrassed! I am so drunk! I never drink!"

"You're fine, sweetie, don't worry about it!" Amane said, smiling. "You're totally fine, I promise. We're having fun!"

"Thanks," Yuugi said, his head drooping slightly onto her shoulder. It then popped up suddenly, and he darted over to Ryou, dragging Amane with him. "Ryou! Oh, Ryou! Ryouryouryouryou!" He sang loudly, smiling so broadly that Ryou suspected it hurt, and in the same instant decided to attempt to rival it with a sunny grin of his own.

"Ryou, dude, you need to hang out with us more," Yuugi trilled brightly, "You're like so cool! You and your sister! She's like you...but with...with...well, you know!" He giggled for a moment, leaning toward Ryou and whispering, "But with Bazookas!" He then all but tackled Ryou and Amane in a tight hug. "You two are so great. I love your hair! Love it! I want it!"

"Haha, Yuugi's so cute, isn't he Ryou?" Amane said, laughing, as Yuugi pulled a few strands of her hair and pulled it over his own head like a wig, laughing hysterically.  
Ryou nodded vaguely, noting that his head seemed to swim more and more with each move; it made it barely noticeable when Yuugi began to thread his finger's through Ryou's hair and giggled as he told Amane all about some historic discovery in the field of holographic card gaming equipment.

"I'm so embarrassed," Yuugi said, sounding quite sad. "_Mou hitori no boku,_" he all but screeched, "I am so sorry that I got drunk."

"It's fine, now come on. We're nearly home," Atemu responded.

"But I want to stay with Amane! She's my new friend!" Yuugi cuddled Ryou's sister somewhat awkwardly, all the while giggling happily.

"Aibou, let's just get you home," Atemu said, trying to guide him gently away from the Bakura siblings.

"Wait! Amane, your shoes!" Yuugi took off the heels, and handed them back to her. He returned back toward Atemu, singing something happily as he did. The two walked off together, and Ryou found it rather annoying.

He was starting to find every moment where Yuugi and Atemu were speaking together irritating. He was so sick of their bullshit. How could Yuugi not _care_ that Atemu had barged into his life and taken over without warning? That he had come in and caused a whole mess of problems for the smaller boy. How was that not infuriating to Yuugi? How could he even like his yami? Where was the resentment and hatred? Why did Yuugi get to have a good experience with his Millennium Item, whereas Ryou's was fantastically terrible and had left him permanently scarred. It simply was not fair, and it made all of the positive somethingelseness drained away from Ryou's good mood. Suddenly he had the energy to hate the Thief all over again. Why did it always come back to him and his awful existence?

"Yuugi! My phone!"

"Oh, yes," Yuugi said, stopping dead and tossing the ancient mobile back at Ryou (who barely caught the damn thing).

"Thank you!" Ryou shouted, flipping the phone open. He pulled open one of the drafts, and deleted nearly everything until it read nothing more than, "I hate you."

He hit 'send' before pocketing the phone.

* * *

Bakura awoke, curled into a cramped ball on his couch, the vaguely bluish light of his television blinding in the dark room. After taking a moment to decide what had roused him from his blissfully dreamless sleep, Bakura fished his mobile phone from the cushions of the weathered old piece of furniture. He saw on the screen a flashing icon of an envelope, which read "1 NEW MESSAGE." Bewildered as to who would be sending him a text message at (he paused to check the time) 2:25 AM, Bakura pressed the button which would allow him to view this mysterious message.  
Across the brightly lit screen in grayish, block letters, three words he'd grown well accustomed to were spelled out in front of him.

"I hate you."

Bakura sighed, irritated by how much this still bothered him. This unwarranted reminder that he had no real place in this world, and his only remaining connection was certain to make sure he knew it.  
Anger bubbled under the deceiving calm of Bakura's outward appearance. Where did his hikari get off saying that he hated him? Bakura had just as much right to hate the boy. Hadn't the boy been an awful, disobedient host? Hadn't he been the one to practically abandon Bakura in the modern world mere hours after his return? Where did he get off thinking that this was in any way acceptable? His hikari ought to be _grateful_ that Bakura hadn't simply ended his miserable life for such crimes against him! That brat, that bastard, where did he get off hating Bakura when Bakura could not bring himself to hate _him_?

Breathing hard, and trying so desperately not to pay the stabbing pain in his chest any attention, Bakura lobbed the offending phone across the room with as much strength as he could muster. It hit the wall with a satisfying _crack_ and shattered into pieces. When it landed, Bakura closed his eyes and breathed through his nose a few times, before slinking off to bedroom for the night.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello everybody! ****Here is chapter seven! I'm afraid I cannot say when exactly my next update will come, with school starting back up and everything (damn classes and their demands that you actually do the work... -grumble-), but hopefully it won't be more than a month or so...**

**I'd like to take a moment to thank all of my reviewers! Thanks everybody, you really make writing this worth while! I love you all! Oh, and while I've got you here, maybe you'd want to check out my new oneshot? It's called Melatonin, and it is sorta a little prequel idea for this fic. So, if you're interested, I'd love to see what you all think of it.  
**

**As always, nothing but the ideas belong to me. Thanks to Tet of 1999, because he actually decided to beta the chapter this time! Enjoy!  
**

**Chapter 7  
**1. Kamera - Wilco  
2. I Want a Mom That Will Last Forever - Cyndi Lauper (A bit sappy, but it came to mind)  
3. My Eyes (On The Rise) - Dr. Horrible and Penny from Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog  
4. Our Swords- Band of Horses  
5. We Are Broken - Paramore

* * *

_**Chapter Seven**_

_Click.  
Click.  
Click.  
Click.  
_

_I blinked in the flash of the camera.  
_

_"C'mon Ryou," my mother urged, a wobbling, unstable grin plastered on her face. "Look at the camera please!"  
_

_She'd been at this for hours and hours, photographing me. It had started out simple, "Ryou, I'd like to take a few pictures of you please." I was used to it; Mum worked as a photographer. She liked to practice on Amane and me, and often she'd develop the prints in the darkroom in the attic, and send them off to our father who was often away from home for his work. She liked black and white prints the best, and there were hundreds of black and white photos lining the walls of our home. Pictures of Mummy and Dad at their wedding, pictures of Amane and I when we were newborns, first steps, first days of school... I was used to Mum taking photos of me.  
_

_But now... My mother had taken __so__ many pictures.  
_

_This had been happening for weeks. It would start with a few, and then hours later my knees would wobble and my eyes would droop and I'd have to beg her to let me go to sleep; a reversal of the typical relations between parent and child. She would resist, begging me to stay awake just a little longer... and I wouldn't be tucked in until well after midnight.  
_

_I was having trouble not blinking, trouble staying still. Trouble because she'd already taken so many pictures; why did she need anymore? She had thousands by now it seemed; what was I doing wrong?  
I was confused. The grin on my mother's face came and went with each flash, her voice either kind and soft and "Smile, Ryou! Smile for Mummy!" or slow and dark and murmuring to herself and, "Just a few more, and I'll have him. Just a few more."  
_

_I didn't know what she was talking about, who she was talking about. But for weeks she'd been mentioning a thief, and needing to catch him and then the camera would flash and I didn't understand.  
_

_I'm a good boy.  
_

_My Mum taught me early on that lying was wrong.  
_

_And I didn't want to lie to her, even though I thought it might hurt her feelings.  
_

_So, I had told the truth, "Mummy,__I don't want to take anymore pictures."  
_

_She shook her head, "I know, love. Just a few more, I promise."__  
_

_But that was ages ago, and the flash kept flashing and my eyes were getting tired and I didn't want to keep smiling and my f__ace hurt__. "Mummy..." I heard myself whine, my itchy eyes making me rub them with balled fists. "Mummy, no more, please." The camera flashed again. My knees were trembling, and I couldn't fight the yawn trying to escape, and I finally cried out, "Mummy!"  
_

_"No," She muttered, her blue eyes snapping open suddenly and they were so scary. Why was my mother looking so scary? Her mouth pressed into a thin line and she gave me a look I'd only ever seen her turn on our Gram when they would argue. "No, Ryou," she said, her voice raising goosebumps on my arms, "No. You have to stay still. I need to get him."  
_

_"Who?" I questioned, scared even more. "Who do you need to get?"  
_

_"That Thief!" Mummy shouted, and she began furiously clicking away at her camera, the flashes hurting my tired eyes. "I have to catch him! Him and that darkness around him... I have to prove that I'm not crazy! Damn it, Ryou, I need you to stand still!"  
_

_I was in tears then, scared and upset and I just wanted to go to sleep and wake up and forget all of the pictures. My Mum was losing her mind! All I wanted was to go to bed; Amane had fallen asleep hours ago and Mummy had even tucked her in and I was still up and my bedtime was hours ago and I was scared. I was exhausted and my Mummy was scaring me. I tried and tried not to cry, but her eyes were so strange an scary that I couldn't help it.  
_

_"There's no Thief..." I protested through my tears. "Nobody's here, Mum! Just me and you! I promise!" I gulped air, and tore at my hair. "It's just us, Mummy... Nobody else is here... No more, please!"  
_

_"No no no," She whispered, still clicking and clicking away. Flashes lit up the room, even when I tried to shut my eyes to the camera's lens. I cried harder; why wouldn't she stop? I just wanted to sleep! And then there was this Thief? Nobody was there, just me and her and we were alone and who was this Thief and what did he have to do with me and why did she want him on her camera so badly? "No, he's here! I see him! I see his terrible red eyes and that crazed smile and Ryou he's just like you and he has this sinister grin and his eyes are wild and he sees only fire... Only fire! I see him and his terrible darkness!" She gasped for breath, her blue eyes hard and she was shouting, "Hold still, damn it Ryou, hold still so Mummy can show you!"  
_

_I fell to my knees, crying in earnest now. I just wanted my Mummy to kiss me goodnight and be normal and stop taking photographs. It was scary, and I was scared and she just kept taking pictures. "I don't want to see," I sobbed, wanting to crawl into myself and never ever remember. "I don't want to..."  
_

_"You have to see!" Mummy screamed. "Everyone has to see him... He's evil, Ryou. Evil! Don't you see him? Don't you feel his cold breath...?" She drew a shaky breath. "Can't you see him, Ryou? He's inside of you! I have to show you... Then you'll see!"  
_

_"No!" I shouted, putting my hands over my face to ruin her shots. She was being mean and crazy and this wasn't my Mummy... Mummy was nice, and she read stories to Amane and me and she was soft and she would sing us to sleep and call Daddy every other night and sometimes let us stay home from school to stay in and cuddle on the sofa and watch old movies and tell silly stories whenever we were sad and she always stopped when we asked and she wasn't crazy! This lady behind the camera lens was not Mummy! Mummy didn't talk about "darkness" and "thieves;" she told stories about magic and why did she keep taking pictures of me? "No!" I shouted a second time, crying ever harder, curling in on myself. "Nobody is inside of me, nobody but me!"  
_

_"No!" She shouted, grabbing me by the shoulders and shaking me. "Get away from him!" She shrieked. "Stay away you evil Thief! Stay away from my son." She shook me once more, then her eyes dropped to the Ring I wore around my neck, a gift from my Dad on his last trip home. It was pretty and it was mine and she was staring at it like it was evil.  
_

_"Ryou," She whispered, hands on my shoulder hard and mean I could feel her nails. "Take that Ring off. Take it off now."  
_

_I nodded, because I didn't know what else to do. I lifted the thin cord over my head, and dropped it to the floor below me, my sobs growing louder and more hysterical as my mother laughed gaily and hugged me tight and whispered in my ear "Everything will be alright now, love," and she rocked me and I cried and cried and cried and why why why was my Mummy like this? Why didn't she tell us stories anymore; why did she always take so many pictures of me and none of Amane and why didn't Mummy like the pretty Ring Dad gave me? I liked it; other people liked it and the other kids at school were talking to me more now since I got it and nobody fought with me anymore and now it was on the floor and why did I feel so sad, so alone? What was wrong with it? Did it have to do with this Thief? I felt Mummy pull me into her lap, hugging me tight and kissing my head. Why, it isn't fair, why didn't I have a normal Mummy anymore?  
_

_"I love you so much Ryou," She said, and I could see now that she was crying too, her eyes red and sad and she held me close. I could almost remember when it was always like this; almost remember when Mum would only take pictures of us sometimes and when she'd take us out to the park or the zoo and how she'd tell us silly stories and always made us laugh, and how Mummy was the only one who liked me and Amane equally, and that she shared us the same and never favored Amane like Dad did when he was home. Mummy always told me she loved me, always always always, and she would run down the street after me on my way to school to kiss my cheek and tell me so because she didn't want anything to happen and me to not know that my mother loved me.  
_

_My mother loved me, I reminded myself as she cried into my hair and her nose dripped and I could still see the spots in my eyes from her camera and I just wanted to smash it because it was awful and it made Mummy crazy and it made her take pictures and not tell stories and see Thieves and not tuck me in. I hated the camera.  
_

_"I love you too, Mum," I gasped, because it was always the best thing to say, and she rocked me and petted my hair and she sang softly into my ear until I fell asleep, all thoughts of cameras and thieves forgotten.

* * *

_

Ryou sat up quickly, fighting to catch his breath, and more than a little horrified to discover that his cheeks were wet with tears.

It felt as if his heart was going to pound right out of his chest. God, it was as if the Thief had invaded every single part of his life. Ryou raked his hands through his tangled hair; trying to choke down his sudden flair of anger. He _hated _that man. The Thief had literally ruined his life. He'd stripped Ryou of his friends, ruined his relationship with his father, and uprooted his whole life yet _again_ due to the debts the Thief had rung up during his time possession his lighter half, after having already uprooted him several times because of the strange shadow games of Monster World which had left many kids in comas. The Thief had made his mother go mad. He had ruined Ryou's whole family... Thankfully the inference had ended for a time, because Ryou did not wear the Ring for about two years following the incident with his mother. He had tried to get rid of it when she died, because she had hated it so much, but Amane had convinced him first to keep it, and then on his ninth birthday convinced him to start wearing it again in preparation for a trip their father had planned to visit... though the visit had wound up being canceled, Ryou had continued to wear the Ring.  
Ryou hated himself for ever putting the Ring on... Over and over, due to his desperate need to feel wanted (even if it was by murderous spirits that were thousands of years old and only wanted his body), Ryou had continued time after time to don the Ring.

And it only made him hate Bakura a little more.

Because he'd manipulated Ryou for years, and the boy had willingly allowed this. Ryou often wondered who he hated more, Bakura or himself during the days he held the Millennium Ring? He hadn't even thought of fighting back most of the time, and he only had the guts to bother to protest when his friends had been in actual danger. He had been a nearly willing participant in most of the Thief's schemes. And if not willing, Ryou had made himself blissfully unaware. He'd let himself slip back into the darkest places of his mind, allow the Thief to treat his body like an over sized marionette, because he could not bear the reality he lived in... could not swallow the truth that this quiet companion he'd stumbled upon had turned out of be evil, literal evil, and that there was next to nothing that a skinny sixteen year old boy could do to halt the damage once it began.

Ryou sighed, and dragged himself out of bed, noting the dull headache that had bloomed in his waking moments. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, attempting to clear the sleep (and the tears he'd awoken to discover) away. Sighing with a sense of finality, Ryou padded lightly into the kitchen, eyes squinted against the harsh lights of the daylight, hardly surprised when he saw Amane sitting at his small kitchen table, a cup of coffee sitting in front of her. "Good morning." Her eyes were still smeared with the previous night's make-up, and her hair was thrown carelessly into a messy bun. Ryou noted, almost surprised, that she was just as pale as he was without her make-up done perfectly. In the short sleeved pajama top (another item of clothing she had nicked from him, he noticed) she was wearing, he could see that there was a tattoo on her right wrist, as well as one on the back of her neck. He frowned slightly at this, but said nothing. It wasn't that he disapproved exactly; he just wondered about them. It made Ryou wonder what else he would have to wait to discover about his somewhat mysterious sister.

"Morning," Ryou said, fighting a yawn. He didn't find this morning particularly good, at least not after the dream he'd had. He shook his head, determined not to mention it to his sister. "Did you sleep well?"

Amane shook her head. "Too much energy," She supplied, grinning. "I'll probably sleep in tomorrow to make up for it."

Ryou nodded, biting his lip. He was bursting to question Amane about what she remembered of their mother, because the memories all simmered at the surface of his mind following his reminiscent dream, but he feared that if he asked this early into her stay it would taint their time together with the tragic loss of their mother. Ryou could feel her studying his movements and expressions and he wondered suddenly if he'd been talking (or worse screaming, or at the very worst _crying_) in his sleep at all.

"Ryou, what's on your mind?"

_Damn it._

"Mum," He answered quietly, after a moment of hesitation. Ryou was not pleased to admit this fact. He had spent much of his teenage years trying simultaneously to recall every single detail of the life he had while his mother was alive and forget everything about her so that the painful recollections would stop. He looked up at Amane, to see her brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you remember about her?"

Amane sighed, running a hand through her white hair. "Not as much as you, I'd imagine. I mean, she died when I was only five." She shrugged, looking somewhat helpless. "I remember that she was always smiling, and that she had hair like the both of us. I remember that she was always taking pictures of us, and that our house was littered with black and white shots of of us as children." Amane shrugged, clearing her throat somewhat awkwardly. "Then... I remember... right before she died..." She blew out a long stream of air, "That she went a bit... well, _mad,_ I suppose. She wasn't really herself. Her moods were rarely stable, and she began pulling away from everybody. And...This is something I'm never truly sure is what actually happened, because it was never ever discussed, but...She was always talking about... 'The Thief'?"

Ryou's eyes went wide as saucers. "You remember..." he breathed.

"A bit hard to forget, I'm afraid," Amane said, frowning. "She used to keep you up for hours taking pictures of you, muttering to herself... 'The Thief...that Thief and his darkness...'" She paused for a moment, and Ryou felt what little blood that remained in his face drain slowly. His sister looked at him suddenly, and whispered, "You call... You call Bakura that. You call him the Thief..." She shook her head, anger flaring in her eyes, "Oh my God..." Amane breathed. "Was that...? It was right after you got that Ring... Oh good Lord..."

Ryou nodded slowly, biting down rather hard on his bottom lip.

"I suppose though, that makes a lot of sense," Amane said after a moment. "I mean, I have my doubts he did anything on purpose. You said yourself that you weren't even truly aware of him until you met Yuugi... So, I doubt he had any idea he could be seen."

Ryou stared at his sister, mouth hanging open. "You don't honestly believe that do you?"

"I'm not really sure what to believe," Amane said, shrugging. "You've spent far more time with him than I have. But what I saw and what you say do not match up whatsoever, I suppose I'll give him the benefit of the doubt for the moment." She met Ryou's disbelieving gaze with a steady look. "Besides, I think he seems a bit lonely."

"Lonely?" Ryou said, noting that his voice was uncharacteristically harsh when he said this. He fought hard against the absurd feeling pushing on his stomach that urged him to laugh at the thought. It was just impossible to imagine the Thief as _lonely_. Sure, Ryou was the first to admit that he only knew of one person who willingly associated with him from time to time, but he typically just pictured Bakura as far too selfish and mean spirited to even desire company. "It's hardly believable that he has any feelings whatsoever. Especially being lonely. He doesn't have friends, he has allies and perhaps associates, but nobody gets anywhere closer than that. And even if he is lonely, he deserves it."

"Look, I'm not saying that he wasn't positively horrid for doing those things to you," Amane said, holding up her hands defensively. "I just don't think that he's like that now... Nobody deserves to be lonely."

"And what _does_ he deserve?" Ryou found himself challenging, "A hug? For me to suddenly become his best friend? Forgive him for literally ruining my entire life all because he said 'sorry'?" A sound of disgust. "Hardly. I owe him nothing, not after all he's done to me."

"Of course you don't owe him anything," Amane said. "I... just think he deserves a bit of a break, really," she added quietly. "I've been there, Ryou. I'm sure you have too. That dark loneliness? The kind of loneliness that makes you doubt everything about yourself, and makes you so desperate that you'll do literally anything just to be accepted by _anybody, _makes you mad because you aren't even yourself anymore_._ I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy; I cannot think of anyone who actually, truly deserves that."

"You hardly know him," Ryou said, shaking his head. How could she not just trust him when it came to the Thief? He was horrible and awful and he'd killed and ruined lives. Ruined his life; ruined all of their lives. He deserved nothing, Ryou repeated over and over to himself, nothing at all. Though each repetition seemed to grow weaker, Ryou insisted to himself that it was still the truth.

"True," Amane said, shrugging. "But once upon a time, my older brother could see the good in everybody. Even the bullies at school, even people who'd been awful to him. I suppose I'm just not ready to let that version of you go," She said it quiet, but Ryou felt the words sting just a little more than he'd expected them to. Amane shrugged, in a seemingly nonchalant way. "There is just something about him that bugs me; he doesn't fit the evil stereotype... there ought to be some rhyme or reason to his actions in the past, because they do not match his behavior now."

"Unlikely," Ryou said dismissively.

"Well, I guess that is really all I've got to say on that," Amane said. "Likely I said, this is just me speculating based on what I've seen, which to be honest isn't much." She shrugged again, sighing.

"You wanted to talk about Mum..?"

"I had a dream about her last night," Ryou said quietly, forcing himself to admit that this was likely a necessary part of the conversation. "Well, it was more like reliving one of the nights she kept me up..."

"The times she'd photograph you?" Amane said, and then frowned at her brother's nodding. He could see from across the table that some of her hair stood up at the words. "Those always used to scare me."

"Me too," Ryou said, rather sadly.

"I always felt terrible for her," Amane said. "She was trying to desperately to be normal and it just wasn't something she could do on her own. I mean, how did she live through it as long as she did? Raising two small children, and Daddy was of no help... I just wish she would have told somebody she'd gone off her meds. She'd probably still be here..." Amane paused, exhaling. "Depression is a scary beast."

"She was bipolar," Ryou responded, nearly immediately. It was an odd topic change, onto something that had never really been openly discussed, something that added just a little more mystery and sadness of the loss of their mother. It sounded wrong to him when Amane mentioned depression, because the only straight answer he'd even gotten was that his mother had suffered bipolar disorder before she had died.

"Well, bipolar depression doesn't feel all that great either," Amane said shortly, an edge in her voice that Ryou had never heard before. "Depression is depression, no matter how you slice it. It's terribly horrifying, and the reality is that it killed our mother. Blame in on whomever you wish, blame _Bakura_ if you'd like, but you and I know in the end that the depression did it."

"It wasn't..." Ryou said, feeling a familiar clouding in his memories as he attempted to recall the details of his mother's death. It was foggy, a cloudy white haze enveloped the images, and little was visible through the misty background. In fact, the only details he truly remembered were from her funeral. Ryou shook his head, trying to see through the hazy block. "She was sick..."

"Well, obviously," Amane said, shaking her head. "Healthy people don't typically..." She paused here, taking a deep breath. "Please don't think I've swallowed the the blatant lie Daddy told us about how she died," Amane was saying, shaking her head. "I remember the blood, Ryou. I'm sure you do too. I mean, you're the one who found her."  
Ryou's breath caught in his throat, and he tried so desperately to conjure this image, yet it would not come. _I don't remember any blood..._ "Blood?" Ryou repeated, so quiet he wasn't sure he'd said it at all. His heart began to beat triple time. He did not remember blood. He did not remember anything about his mother's death, save for the funeral and being shipped off to their grandmother's. What else had the Thief done? Is it possible... could he have done something to his mother while he was still inside the Ring? Ryou could barely breathe, and he looked pleadingly at Amane for some kind of an explanation that he wasn't sure she could give.

"Never mind," Amane said, turning her head. "I think I'm going to go back to bed."

"I'll be at work if you need me," Ryou said, somewhat numbly, and he watched her glide trance like into the living room. He stared down at his now cold coffee, feeling the coldness seeping through his veins and waiting for the anger to come. But, in place of anger, he only found a familiar sense of lonely sadness in watching his silent sister abort the conversation before she could give him more than a sudden word of change. Could it be that after years of having no one to discuss the pain of losing his mother with, that the wounds were still as fresh as they had been over a decade ago?

The likely answer seemed to be a resounding yes.

And that pain was only intensified by the feeling that he had no idea what the hell had happened.

Ryou sighed. Life never seemed to allow him a moment of untainted happiness; something always had infect it, had to ruin it slowly, rotting it from the inside. He stood slowly, retreating into his bedroom to change his clothes for work, hoping that the eight hour shift would give him some more pleasant thoughts to dwell upon.

* * *

Around noon, Ryou took his lunch break, having spent the day trying to avoid the shifting, empty (and hellishly uncomfortable) feeling his stomach had adopted since his breakfast of coffee and controversy with his sister. The whole situation was so bizarre for him to process; he'd gone from being largely alone to suddenly having family again. Try as he might to make it appear otherwise, Ryou was fairly certain he was considered a "duty friend" by the majority of Yuugi's group; the friend they call up out of a sense of obligation or guilt (because now they realized they should have noticed; should have _seen_). The exceptions were perhaps Yuugi himself (which oftentimes meant Jou tagging along) and Malik... though Malik and he had drifted considerably since the Thief's return. Though he'd never turn down an invitation, Ryou felt no genuine connection of friendship (whatever the hell that even was) to them once they were out of sight. Simply longing... to be included, to feel like a part of them not some outsider brought along. Ryou often found himself with that gnawing feeling loneliness when the phone wasn't ringing and the texts stopped pouring in... the type of loneliness that enveloped you like a suffocating blanket that never let you acclimate to the difference from what was supposed to be normal.

But, Ryou found he was beginning to adapt to loneliness... After all, it had been nearly ten years since he'd had anything resembling a family. Shouldn't he just be used to it?

Apparently not, the answer seemed, because fate brought his sister back into his life, provided the reunion he'd thought he'd have to wait until death to see. But, even _that_ was tinged with lonely sadness... She hadn't chosen to come to him straightaway. Had she not stumbled upon the Thief, would she have come at all? And now that she was here and she was real, Ryou was constantly gripped with an embarrassingly juvenile worry: what if, after all this time (after all the tears and prayers and the letters to his sister who was much closer in his imagination than she'd been in life all this build up all this sadness) what if in all of this Amane simply did not like him?

How could he survive that blow?

His father's abandonment had been hard enough...

At that moment, Ryou chose to check the time on his phone, simply for something else to think about. In checking his texts, which is always what checking the time turned to, (several of these texts from the previous night, sent by inebriated peers telling him how 'totally awesome' the night had been...many who'd meant to send to it somebody else most likely), Ryou was alarmed to see a large number of drafts saved. Opening it with trepidation, Ryou discovered more than ten variations on, "I hate you, but sorry" saved in his drafts folder. Swallowing hard, he cautiously viewed his outbox.

At 2:27 am, he had sent a message.

The contact chosen had been listed as "Bakura," even though every time he saw it it made his insides burn with rage that made him want to scream that it was _his_ name, not the Thief's, and that the other man had no right to use it.

The message read, "I hate you."

Guilt leaked into his still empty stomach, and Ryou stared wide eyed at the message for a long moment before phoning Malik.

"Hello?"

"Why the _hell_ didn't you take my phone away last night?"

"Because I'd stupidly assumed you'd learned your lesson about drunk texting...?"

"I blame my actions last night on you," Ryou muttered darkly. "I'm blaming you, and you'll have to take the fall for it, okay?"

"I will gladly take the blame," Malik answered cheerily. "Who and or what did you insult this time?"

"You already know," Ryou grumbled, tone pointing out the obvious unspoken answer.

A sigh. "Why must you always drunk text Bakura?"

At this Ryou mumbled something indistinct.

"Is it because you secretly use it as an opportunity to talk to him...?" Hope in his voice.

"No."

"Not even a little...?"

Ryou chose to ignore this. "..."

"Fine, ruin the fun," Malik pouted.

"I'm blaming you."

"Blame away my friend, blame away."

A sigh on Ryou's end. "I don't feel bad."

"Yes you do."

"No," Teeth clenched, stubborn, "I do not."

"Then why'd you call?" Malik asked.

"Shut up."

_Click._

* * *

Bakura stifled a yawn as he hit "end" on his last phone call of the day. He logged off of the computer where he had spent the last eight hours, and removed his headset. He rubbed his tired eyes, trying to remember exactly why he had agreed to working a shift that started at six am every Sunday morning making moronic telephone calls to people in various time zones who had absolutely no interest in what he was calling them about. Bakura frowned, supposing it was because he was payed time and a half for the shift, and because he wanted to be able to forget the time when he had depended on Malik for nearing six months, which had been more than slightly humiliating. Picking up extra hours was likely the best way for him to acquire some extra cash, a nagging voice inside of him repeated. Oh, how he longed for the days when he could just take what he needed rather than having to _work_ for it (though this job was most boring and tedious than actual work)... But thieving and homelessness appeared to come hand in hand, and Bakura would rather have his closet of an apartment than live on the streets in the middle of November (or worse yet, move back in with Malik).

Bakura reached under his desk, retrieving the smallish mesh bag filled with his meager collection of casual clothes, and stood, stretching as he did so. He walked away from the small desk in a minuscule cubical, fighting back yet another yawn with a frown. Bakura dared not let himself think of the exact reasons for his inability to sleep the night prior, and with a scowl, he left the warmth of the building where he worked to head off to the laundromat on a damp, November day, resolutely deciding not to think on the text message from the early morning hours which had been the source of his insomnia.

Contrary to what he suspected was thought of him (likely by his h-_by Ryou_), Bakura was not some lazy slob incapable of picking up after himself. Quite the contrary; he kept his things organized for the most part for the ease of locating them later (a sloppy thief is a poor thief, and the habit of knowing exactly where his things were wasn't a habit worth fighting). Part of his organization was to separate his work clothes from his minuscule wardrobe of clothing to be worn outside of work, and after a few days these clothes typically needed washing so... He'd made a weekly habit of stopping after work on the weekend to do his laundry. The habit became rather ingrained in his time in the modern world as he slowly came to realize that laundry was time consuming, and he had much time to kill.

Bakura always pretended not to notice that this particular laundromat, which he had selected about six months ago, was also two blocks from his light's apartment, and that the trek back to his own empty apartment typically lead him on a walk past the building where his hikari (_damn it_, this is just too pathetic) lived. More than once the former thief had ducked into an alleyway to avoid actually running into his- _no-_ running into Ryou, and then feeling a mix of shame and anger and confusion as the other white haired boy walked past, blissfully unaware of Bakura's intrusive presence. Bakura never allowed himself to dwell on these moments; they always reminded him of the moment when Ryou's face would transform from peaceful and calm, to contorted with anger upon locking eyes upon his darker half.

Today in particular, Bakura was in no mood to uncover these strange moments. He was still attempting to wrap his head around the unprovoked declaration of hatred he received in the early hours of morning.. even though he had sworn not to think about them. He was mostly irritated -he dared not admit to even himself that it may have... _stung_ a little- because he had done nothing that day to deserve the attack, save for one or two unkind words (which, honestly, were just habit between the two of them by now, not to mention entirely _deserved _following the ludicrous murder accusation and destruction of order in his neat little closet-apartment). Now he just wanted to distract himself with a meaningless task, and for once not mull over his wrongdoings.

Finally ducking out of the bitter wind of the November day, Bakura slipped inside the warmth of the laundromat. As the smell of fabric softener washed over him, Bakura had to sigh. He wondered idly if this smell would calm him so much if he'd lead something resembling a normal life, or if it was only because boring old laundry provided some kind of sad escapism for him. It was simply the beginnings of a fantastic period of time in which he was not required to think about Ryou, about his old life, about the moments and the regrets that piled up so high in his mind. No, all he had to do was sort, wash, dry and fold. It was rather pathetically domestic, but over the last year he had grown to accept it. It was something that wasn't worth the effort to rebel against, and this sort of monotony was almost comforting.

Fifteen minutes into Bakura's load of laundry, the door opened and brought with it a gust of cool air. In walked a white haired person, wearing a black hooded sweatshirt, the hood pulled over their head, worn under a leather jacket. Thin legs were clad in a pair of faded jeans, and their feet covered by a scuffed old pair of black converse. Were it not for the jacket, Bakura might have considered sinking down in his seat to avoid a public confrontation with his hikari (not that he'd have actually done it... just considered was all. He did not fear a scrawny boy like Ryou...not even a little.). However, the leather coat was an obvious indication that it was Amane, rather than her brother, who had just arrived in the laundromat. She looked tired, with no make-up on her face and large bags under her eyes. She was carrying a sizable bag of laundry (from the looks of it, mostly Ryou's clothing) as well as bottles of detergent and softener, and promptly chose the machine across from Bakura's.

Amane began silently loading her machine, sorting the laundry as she went and then carefully measuring out the detergent. After a moment of sorting and loading two separate machines, she turned her head slightly, looking at him from the corner of her eye. "I can tell you're watching me, so you may as well just say hello," She said suddenly.

Bakura became acutely aware that he had, indeed, been watching the girl intently since she had entered the warmth of the building. He ignored the slight blush which crept up his throat to his cheeks, and cleared his throat. "Hello." Lacking anything that would make for stellar conversation material (aside from casual mention of the disgusting rainy weather or interrogating her about what exactly his hikari- no- what Ryou had told her about him...and then likely denying it all out of stubborn pride), he left the exchange at that. He returned to reading the days old newspaper he'd stolen from the garbage bin at work, staring idly down at the half completed crossword puzzle.

Amane took the seat next to him after a moment, and then turned to look at Bakura after a moment of awkward silence. "Did you know that my mother could see you before she died?"

Bakura looked up at the words, feeling both surprised and alarmed at the unprompted comment. "No..." He found himself saying, slowly as if he were uncertain about the answer he'd given.

"She could," Amane responded simply. "Granted, she had a lot of problems on top of it... She really started to lose it towards the end, and that.. seeing what would be considered a hallucination by sane people... probably wasn't helping. Mood swings, terrible terrible mood swings. She used to sit Ryou in front of the camera for hours and hours trying to get a photograph of you."

Bakura blinked. Those words rang a bell, but it took a moment of brushing aside the cobwebs of his memories of the early days with his light to recall the image of a white haired woman behind a bulky camera lens, rambling incoherently about the Thief, the Thief. Suddenly a flood of memories came to the forefront of his brain. The Thief, the Thief, yes that was what his hikari called him in his thoughts and to his friends. The Thief, yes, that was the name given to him by the poor woman torturing herself because she feared for her son, oh how she rightly worried for the boy. Oh, how he remembered her so vividly because she was so eerily similar in appearance to his own (though the memories of his own were hazy at best, and all that stood out was the snowy hair), how she cared to much for the boy and how it was obvious up until the end...

Oh the very bloody, bloody end.

That he very clearly remembered.

He stared back at Amane, at a complete loss for words, his henna colored eyes wide and hinting at remorse.

"Remember, do you?" Her voice crept to him slowly, across the sounds of washing and tumbling. Bakura nodded dumbly, filled with apprehension about how she would react. Gods, it had been so long ago, and he was barely more than a whisper in the back of Ryou's mind then. He hadn't known... hadn't realized at first, but there was nothing he even could have done. Bakura had no influence over his host then; he barely had influence in his own mind. Driven, selfishly by the part of him... that dark, terrifying part that had become a medley of his hate and Zorc... which wanted a body, any body would do, to search for the Items. Seek them, turn the destruction of his family, of his village, of his world on their creators to destroy them. Then Zorc could do what he pleased, Bakura need not know or care what it was, he just needed to avenge his family... needed to seek revenge for the life he had lost so young, just so long as he got to watch the lights leave the Pharaoh's eyes as he gasped for his final breath... Gods, he had been so selfish, always so fucking selfish... Helped destroy a family in seeking revenge in the name of his... And not just one, all of those countless souls sealed into Monster World figurines, had to have nearly destroyed at least as many families as he had victims. He felt sick suddenly, confronted by an innocent whose life was altered irreversibly by his actions; an innocent he hadn't even _met_. It was disgusting for him to see that, in his drive to destroy the monsters who'd slaughtered Kul Elna, he'd become a monster himself... Attaching his soul to darkness only confirmed this. He could pretend some days that it was justified, that somehow having been the victim first made it right... But it wasn't right, and there was no getting around the cold hard fact.

Bakura insides seemed to squirm with guilt. Murderer. Rapist. Thief. Stealer of Souls. Body snatcher.

_Monster.  
_

None of these things were forgivable.

So why the hell did he expect that he'd be forgiven?

(In the back of his mind he blamed the whole thing on Malik, with his crazed ideas about how he could be excused for his actions because he hadn't been entirely human at the time... But Bakura himself didn't think that excuse would stand with his victims or with himself. He knew his search for forgiveness was unwise and largely pathetic.)

"I'm not blaming you for anything."

His head snapped up (he hadn't realized it had been hanging down somewhat dejectedly), and Bakura stared openly at the girl.

"Why not?" He wondered aloud, "You have every right to. I've torn apart your family."

"Giving yourself a lot of credit there," She remarked, eyebrows raised. "Who says it was you?"

The silence he gave provided enough of an answer, unspoken words of an electronic message from the night previous ringing in the perfumed air: 'I hate you.' Answer enough for both of them.

Amane shrugged. "We'll never know exactly what it was that made her choose," She said simply. "It could have been anything. One more delayed trip home by dad, one more ungrateful temper tantrum by her children, another argument with her mother over whether or not she was a competent parent, a manic swing met by a depressive downturn... It could have been anything, so there is no reason to assume it was because she could see you. All I know is that she was very sick, and then she was dead. The hows and whys don't change the outcome, so I suppose I may as well try to move on."

Bakura's washer buzzed. He remained frozen in his seat, reeling at the idea of moving on. He supposed he was incapable of it, spending his entire existence refusing to do just that. The former Thief King found his voice, quieter, thinner than usual, "Do you really believe that? That you should just move on?"

Amane grinned, "I think that if I keep telling myself, I'll eventually have to believe it."

Bakura nodded, mute for a few more moments. Moving on had never really seemed like an option, even now. He was still firmly rooted in the past, desperately clinging to his singular attachment to this world. "He'll always hate me, and honestly I can't say that I blame him."

"He can change."

"Should he have to?"

"You did," Amane said with a shrug.

"Really, you think so?" A hollow laugh followed his words response. "Tell that to him."

"I rather like living, thank you very much," She said, a small smile forming on her lips. "He may not see it, but you certainly aren't the person he's told me about. A right arse sometimes, but certainly not some life-ruining psychopath." Amane looked at Bakura for a long moment, eyes searching his face as if it was going to reveal an answer if she stared long enough. "That being said... I don't understand you, Thief," she said at long last.

A thin smile stretched across his face, "You say that as if you expect to."

* * *

Having trudged back to his apartment in the icy wind and rain, mind still wading through his little chat with Amane, Bakura was almost happy when he walked in the door. His moment of good spirits was fleeting as he noted that there were lights on inside... and that his door had been unlocked. Cursing under his breath, he set down the bag of laundry (which had likely gotten wet in his trek back, only adding to his irritation) and walked quietly into his tiny living room to discover Malik sitting on his sofa, staring at the television (which strangely was not switched on).

"Where the hell have you been all day?" The former tomb-keeper demanded.

"Is this your new thing?" Bakura asked mildly, shaking his head (which only caused his drenched hair to stick uncomfortably to the sides of his pale face) at the younger Egyptian. "Do you just come over here for the hell of it? Because I was under the impression that you had your own place..."

"You haven't answered your phone all day!" Malik thundered, jumping to his feet. Bakura simply stared at him. "Seriously, where the hell have you been?"

"Well, _honey_," Bakura said with a smirk, "I'm sorry you've been so worried. I'll have you know that I've been at work all day, which is something you're probably not familiar with seeing as I don't recall you mentioning working at all in the last month of so. Then I did my laundry, which I'm sure you have people for. Oh, and I didn't answer my phone because I broke it."

"You broke it," Malik repeated, sounding confused and a little horrified. "Like, dropped it in the toilet or...?"

"Threw it against the wall," Bakura answered with a shrug. "It shattered."

"Shattered...?" Malik repeated, as if these words were not processing in his mind. "You shattered your cell phone, because you threw it at the wall..."

"Yes," Bakura confirmed, returning to the kitchen to drape his soaking trench coat over a chair. As he returned to the living room, he loosened and finally removed the tie (which he affectionately referred to as a torture device in his thoughts) he was required to wear while working. This made no sense to him, and he constantly complained to himself that he made phone calls, not video calls, and therefore he should be able to wear whatever the hell he wanted while working because nobody could see him. "I shattered my cell phone."

"Why the hell would you do that?"

"Got pissed off," Bakura said, shrugging yet again.

"At the phone?" Malik raised his eyebrows suspiciously.

"I don't particularly wish to discuss it."

"Shit," Malik said, running a hand through his hair as realization dawned on his tanned face. "I guess Ryou got his phone back then?" A noncommittal shrug, "What did it say?"

"Nothing exciting," Bakura shrugged again, trying his best to appear as apathetic about the situation as he could, "Nothing more than 'I hate you,' anyways."

"Ouch," said Malik, sitting back down on the worn couch. "I really ought to stop letting him drunk text."

Bakura shrugged, obviously against discussing this topic further. "What are you doing here again?"

Malik ignored him, "I'm sure he doesn't actually hate you as much as he says."

"Comforting," Bakura remarked with a roll of his eyes (trying not to let any hope bloom at those words, because that would just be so damned pathetic to get his hopes up over a lesser degree of hatred...right?)

"Really," Malik said with an air of confidence, "He'll come around."

"Why did you break into my apartment again?" Bakura repeated, sounding a little bored.

"Oh, right," Malik said, looking slightly uncomfortable. "I need your help."

"With what?" Apprehension crept into Bakura's voice. He typically tried to avoid "helping" Malik, since in the past it rarely worked out in his favor. If he recalled correctly, it typically landed him either hospitalized or sent off the the Shadow Realm or both.

There was a pause, adding to the overly dramatic next words:

"I need to destroy Yuugi Mutou."

A moment passed, where the former villains stared at each other seriously and unmoving, and then Bakura burst out laughing. "What?" he snorted. "You want me to help you do what, exactly?"  
Malik sighed and waited impatiently for the former tomb raider to calm down. "I'm serious."

Bakura stared, face still frozen in a laugh in which he weighed the likelihood that Malik was actually serious, and then continued laughing. Malik noted that a somewhat hysterical edge had leaked into it after a moment or so. "And I suppose you'll give me your Millennium Item in return for the favor, right? Help me get my hands on the others... Destroy the Pharaoh?" Even more uncontrollable laughter, and he began to gasp desperately for breath (but could not stop himself from laughing more).

"This isn't funny..." Malik muttered as he watched the other man double over, laughing too hard to continue standing straight.

Bakura was gripping the arm of the sofa for support, knuckles white from hanging on so tightly. He found that his head was starting to pound and his lungs protesting as he laughed helplessly, but this only made him laugh harder until he finally dropped to his knees, still chuckling every few seconds. Clearing his throat and standing, albeit a little shakily, Bakura looked at Malik with a grin that looked almost wrong on a face so permanently arranged into a frown. "I haven't done that..." He said aloud, his voice indicative of some sort of wonder, "I haven't done that, _ever_ I think." He blinked a few times, recalling that he'd felt it a few rare times while possessing his... when he was possessing Ryou, but he realized that he'd never once had the opportunity to find anything quite that... _funny. _It wasn't as if it was all that funny, mostly just bizarre to hear Malik, who was such a wimp by his former standards, ask him something so reminiscent of the past he'd been trying to outrun since he returned to Domino.

"Glad I'm so amusing," Malik grumbled, clearly not getting the joke. "Seriously though, I kind of want to kill him."

"Why? Did he forget to call you back?" Bakura said, smirking as Malik's cheeks went slightly pink.

"No..." Malik heaved a great sigh. "It's Amane."

His grin slithered off of his face, "What's she got to do with the Pharaoh's light?"

"I don't want them involved," Malik ground out, an anger present in his eyes that Bakura hadn't seen since Battle City.

_Jealousy_ was probably more accurate, and the Thief blinked a few times in surprise.

Bakura blinked a few times more, waiting for the surprise to wear off (it didn't). "Have they even _met?_"

"A bunch of us went out last night, and they were far too cozy for my tastes," Malik all but spat.

Bakura, however, simply sighed as he ran a hand over his face. "So, is _that_ what happened yesterday? You were _fucking her _when I called asking if you'd seen her? While Ryou panicked and ripped my place to shreds, you were fucking her..."

Malik went bright red then, but said nothing.

"You know, normally you don't even bother learning their names..." Bakura mused. He blanched suddenly, looking more than thoroughly disgusted as a thought crossed his mind. "Oh, gods, does this make her _special?_"

"Shut up."

"Is that why you're here?" Bakura said, a false sweetness coating his voice as he continued to try to rile up his former partner in crime. "To tell me about your new _girlfriend?_"

"Shut _up._"

"Don't want little Yuugi to steal away your girl?" Bakura said, grinning widely, inching far too close to Malik for the other's comfort.

"Forget I said anything," Malik muttered darkly, crossing his arms and looking moodily off into space. "Don't know why I'd even bother. She's crazy anyways."

Now that seemed a little off, considering that Bakura had just had a perfectly sane, though perhaps a little strange, conversation with her not even an hour before. Sitting back, he shrugged, as if only fleetingly interested and inquired, "Crazy?"

"Oh yeah," Malik said, nodding. "We're at this club last night, getting along and everything. Drinking, a little dancing, but ugh that fucker just like leeched onto her..."

"Rapidly losing interest..." Bakura warned, and Malik sighed and got back on topic.

"So, we wind up outside, smoking and chatting and everything's just fine and dandy... Then out of nowhere, I guess I pissed her off or something, because she pulls a fucking knife on me."

Bakura's dark eyebrows disappeared into his snowy hair, "Hmm. I guess that's her _thing_ then..."

"Threats at knife point?"

"Didn't I tell you that's how I met her?" A cheeky grin, as the white haired man pointed out the thin scab on his throat; the evidence of his first encounter with his hikari's sister.

"Fuck..."

"You certainly know how to pick 'em, Malik."

"Fuck off."

"You know, you really ought to be more polite. You're lucky I haven't thrown you out yet."

"Throw me out?" A snort. "I'd venture to guess that most would say you've gone as soft as me these days. I'd like to see you throw me out of here."

Bakura's eyes narrowed, and he pulled a simple pocket knife from his front pocket. "I could always just kill you instead..."

"Have you ever considered going anywhere unarmed...?" Malik questioned, somewhat exasperated (though he did look slightly on edge, which pleased Bakura just fine). "You and her... Made for each other, I swear. How did that warrant a death threat?"

Malik waited, but got no answer from the former Thief King; he didn't honestly expect one.

Bakura shook his head, but nevertheless pocketed the weapon and stared expectantly at the former tomb keeper, as if to encourage his return to the subject of why he considered himself a welcomed house-guest at all hours (especially the ones in which Bakura was not present for some reason).

"I've got a key," Malik said finally as he resumed his protest with vigor, looking peeved. "I co-signed this lease for your sorry ass! I can come over whenever I please. _That_ is why I have a damned key."

"Sure about that?" Bakura asked with yet another uncharacteristic grin.

"What do you...?" Malik trailed off, searching his pockets for his key ring only to find them distressingly empty. His lavender eyes stared over at Bakura, who had the small metal ring dangling from his pointer finger, swaying lazily as the distressed Egyptian stared on. "How...?" Malik looked exceedingly alarmed as he tried to recall a moment when Bakura could have possibly stolen his keys. "You didn't even _touch _me..." He said weakly.

With a chuckle, Bakura simply shrugged.

* * *

Amane entered Ryou's apartment, using the spare key she'd found hiding in a flower pot in his window sill to open the door. She crossed the threshold, lugging the laundry bag, fully intent on folding and sorting the clothes once she had thawed out. She planned to have this chore finished before her brother returned from work, in hopes that it would help to smooth over the uncomfortable conversation they'd had this morning. Amane was hopeful that by doing a few nice things, she could help lessen Ryou's stress level and then they'd have a less heated conversation about the topic that had been on her mind all day: their mother. She wanted to get it all out in the open with her bother, to discuss with Ryou what nobody have ever discussed with her. She honestly just wanted to talk about her Mum, what she missed, what she didn't remember, what she remembered... everything...

Amane was knocked from her thoughts when the telephone began to trill. She decided to ignore it, figuring that it was not her place to answer her brother's calls. Setting up camp on the sofa, Amane began to sort the shirts from the pants in the bag of freshly laundered clothes as the phone continued to ring. Finally, the answering machine picked up with Ryou's chipper outgoing message.  
"Ryou... This is your father," Said a hesitant voice on the machine.

Amane halted her sorting and refolding, staring off in the direction of the machine in disbelief. In the past few days, in all of the excitement in discovering her brother, she had completely forgotten about their father. Their absent father, who hadn't seemed to have shaped up at all since her disappearance from their lives, if his continued absence was any indication.

There was a sigh on the line. "Look, Ryou, I know we haven't spoken much in the last few years... And I know that for the most part this is my fault. But, anyways, I'm going to be in Domino for a month starting a few weeks from now with an exhibition at the museum that your friend Malik's sister helped to set up. I was hoping to see you while I was in town, and maybe...maybe we could talk. I feel like we have a lot of catching up to do... Not to mention the holidays are coming up soon, and I'd hate to hear of you spending it alone. I know you mother would.. She'd have killed me if she found out I'd let you spend Christmas by yourself."

Amane had stood, staring at the machine projecting her father's voice in wonder. She'd forgotten the sound of his voice, the way he pronounced his words, the slight blending of accents that made it unique. She stared, beaming, barely taking in the words he was saying.

"Please return this call when you get the chance, Ryou. I hope to see you soon..."

Amane suddenly acted impulsively, picking the phone up and ending the recording on the machine. "Daddy?" She breathed into the receiver.

She was met by stunned silence on the line, the crackle of the international call zipping through the line. "No..." Said the whisper, "No, it can't be... You sound just like... like Elle,but...no. It can't be."

"Daddy, it's me... It's Amane..."

* * *

**Oh, I let Tet of 1999 name Ryou and Amane's mother ages ago. It's Elle. Nothing exciting, I just thought she needed a name. :D**

**Thanks again for reading! Please review!  
**


	8. Chapter 8

**Wow, this update took forever, and I am so sorry! College really does kick your ass time wise. Not to mention I've just gotten a new job (as a telemarketer, of all things!), so my time management skills have really been put to the test! Sadly, this is only about half of what was originally planned out for this chapter, but I figured it was long enough as it was. **

**Thanks to all the reviewers, and to Tet of 1999 for betaing this chapter, as well as coming up with the majority of the playlist! As always, I own nothing! Please enjoy!**

**Chapter 8 Playlist:**

1. Friend of Mine - The National  
2. Hurt - Johnny Cash  
3. Paper Hanger - mewithoutyou  
4. 99 Anthems - Jaydiohead  
5. Light My Candle - Roger and Mimi from RENT

* * *

Ryou walked slowly out of work, locking the door behind him with a large yawn. He hadn't been able to shake the negative feelings which had been hovering over him since his conversation with Amane earlier in the day (meanwhile, he constantly racked his brains for any details about his mother's death and found they remained alarmingly absent, and in his spare moments, fretted over his drunk texting habit). His mind wandered to his sister, and he found himself curious as to what she'd done to kill time on such a dreary day. His apartment held little potential for entertainment, unless his basic cable package counted. Ryou debated phoning her to ask she wanted him to pick up anything for dinner (he feared that he only had ramen in his cupboard), but then his own phone began to buzz excitedly from his jacket pocket. As Ryou stepped inside the protection of the train station which would carry him back home, Ryou flipped open his battered old mobile.

"Hello?"

"Hey Ryou," greeted the voice on the line, chipper and bright as it usually was these days.

"Hi Malik," Ryou said with a grin, frowning as he discovered he would have to wait another fifteen minutes for his train. "What's up?"

"Nothing much, though I'm considering filing assault charges against your darker half..."

"WHAT?" Ryou could see the people around him staring, but his heart had suddenly picked up and it was beating obscenely fast, _and oh God what did he do what did he do?_

"You see, sometimes I forget that we're still not at the point where we can joke about these things," Malik said, a sigh in his voice. "I'm fine, by the way, since I know that you're thinking I've dragged myself bleeding from his apartment, calling you to weakly whisper my last words..." He laughed there, "No, the bastard just _stole my keys_ and I do not even _want _to know how he managed to do it since he never even touched me!" He paused, and in a stage whisper-like statement, he said, "I think he's still got Shadow Magic but just doesn't want to share."

There was a burst of undecipherable noise, and Malik responded by telling the person in the background to learn to "take a fucking joke already." Ryou waited while the Egyptian cleared his throat," Anyways... I was wondering if you were in the area, since you've got my spare set. And seeing as you tend to be overly prepared, I figured that maybe you have them on you?"

Ryou heaved a heavy sigh, a small smile snaking onto his lips. "You're in luck this time. I'm only a few blocks away."

"Oh, thank you. You're my hero."

"Oh, haha," Ryou said sarcastically, grinning nonetheless. "You're only saying that so I'll bail your ass out this time."

"This might also be true," Malik mused, "But mostly you're my hero!"

"Right, right," Ryou said, backtracking out of the train station. "Are you still with him?" His voice suddenly turned serious.

"Yeah... But I'll just meet you outside, okay?"

"Don't tell him I'm coming," Ryou warned.

"He already _knows_, dipshit. He's standing three feet from me."

"Whatever, I'll see you in a few," Ryou flipped his cell closed, ending the conversation before all of the lightheartedness of its start wore off.

Ryou turned down a street, his feet carrying him as if on autopilot in the direction of the Thief's home. Ryou watched his shadow, long and thin, in the street lamps. An eerie reflection of himself. He glared unhappily when he realized just how much his shadow reminded him of his darkness. Sinister and black, following him wherever he went. But Ryou's shadow had no choice but to follow his movements, mirror his journeys. In many ways, Ryou could relate to the shadow... He knew how it felt to be toted unwillingly along, having no control of his motions and movements. He sighed. Perhaps he pitied his shadow in the same way he still felt sorry for himself whenever he thought back to his years with the Ring. Stupid boy, too stupid to resist at first, and too weak to resist in the end.

Stupid shadow.

_Stupid hikari..._

Such a shame it was a slave to Ryou's every move, shoved into invisibility when the light was just right.

Poor shadow had no choice.

But it still looked like the Thief, still unnerved him whenever he saw it.

The Thief, unlike Ryou's enslaved shadow, had every opportunity to simply disappear from his life. So it was irksome that he chose to shadow Ryou, even when he thought his light didn't know. Oh, Ryou knew. He could sense the Thief's presence whenever he was around. He's seen the whip of a black jacket, a lock of white hair, whooshing in the breeze as it ducked out of view quickly. But the King of Thieves could never truly conceal himself from Ryou...

The light in question blinked, realizing he stood, his shadow lingering at his side, at the front of the building which hid his other, less likable, shadow.

Malik's sandy head appeared behind the heavy door to the building, and Ryou heard him shout something to effect of, "And I want my keys back, you ass!" before he turned and smiled at Ryou. "You're a lifesaver, you know. I'd have been stuck in there all night." He smiled.

"Now you know I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy," Ryou said, smiling again.

* * *

"So, you'll be in town in two weeks?" Amane repeated, a grin splitting her pale face into two rosy halves.

"Yes," answered the voice on the line, "Though with this development, I'll talk to my superiors about moving my departure date up."

"Oh that would be wonderful," Amane exclaimed, "Please, please do that."

There was a smile in his voice, "I'll see what I can do."

"I cannot wait to see you again, Daddy."

"I cannot wait to see you, Amane," Said the voice of her father earnestly. "And I hope I'll get to speak to your brother as well," He added, an obvious afterthought.

"He'll be there," Amane promised earnestly, images of an almost whole, almost healthy, almost happy family dancing through her wild imagination.

"I'll see you soon."

"You bet," a happy laugh crossed the phone lines. "Good bye, Daddy."

"Good bye."

As Amane returned the phone to its cradle, however, the good feeling that have enveloped her faded quickly. Her smile withered, and she stared, horrified, at the answering machine... the machine which had erased all the evidence of the message being left when she had picked up. From what Amane had heard before, Ryou was likely not going to be as excited about a reunion with their workaholic father as she was. But Amane was a little desperate for some kind of parental guidance; it was obvious that Ryou saw that as unwelcome after having been on his own for so long. But Amane needed to see her father, to prove to herself that he hadn't abandoned her... That of course he still loved her...

But he _had _essentially abandoned Ryou...

And he expressed no warmth, no kindness or fondness for her brother, and he hadn't for as long as Amane could recall... The only moment they'd connected was over that stupid Ring...

What a fiasco that had been...

Amane had just promised to stick them in the same room, implying that all would be well and forgiven when she did so.

But there was no affection between them, there had never been anything more than blood between them...

And they hadn't spoken... in years...

Trepidation leaked, heavy and dark, into the pit of her stomach. Her mind began an unceasing mantra of _shit shit shit shit oh shit shit shit shit oh shitshitshit. _

Here, alone in her brother's kitchen, Amane lacked any sort of projected self confidence. She felt like a misbehaving child, head dropping dejectedly as she realized what she had done, what she had agreed to, what she'd dragged her brother into without consulting him...and she could hear her grandmother's scolding voice in her ear, _"Now, Amy, you know that was a terrible thing to do without talking to your brother first. You could really hurt his feelings... Don't you ever stop to think about anybody other than yourself, Amy? Don't you?"_

All happy feeling slithering far from reach, Amane covered her ears as if to block out her thoughts. The euphoria of the last few minutes was long gone, but the intensity of the moment did not allow for a slowing of her thoughts. "Oh buggering hell..." She muttered, hearing the door of the apartment unlock. Trudging back to the laundry covered sofa, Amane set about returning to the task of refolding the now wrinkled clothes. She could hear her brother's voice (he appeared to on chatting on his mobile to somebody), cheerfully reassuring someone that he was feeling "just fine, only a little headache" after the night before.

Part of her just wanted to bolt from the tiny little apartment, escape the situation. _"Yes, go ahead Amy, run like you always do. When are you going to start taking care of your own problems, huh? Why am I always cleaning up your messes? Why can't you take care of yourself, you're eighteen for goodness sake, why are you so irresponsible...? Your mother could have handled this, bless her soul, and she was far worse off than you dear. Amy, are you even listening to me? Amy!"_

Amane had to shake her head a few more times, ignoring the ever-present nagging voice of her grandmother echoing in her head. She needed to solve this one, without being guilted by the voice of a wrinkly woman on another continent. "Bloody hell..." she muttered, head swimming evermore as her brother kept chattering in the other room and all she wanted was out. Out of here, out of this situation, back to something someplace easier to deal with. A time machine, that's what she needed, something to reverse this.

"Amane?"

"What?" She yelped, jumping slightly.

"Are you alright?" Ryou asked, his phone now absent, his eyes wide. He was staring at her openly, as if she had perched upon his sofa surrounded by bodies rather than by piles of sweaters and jeans. "You look..." Ryou paused here, choosing his words carefully, "You look a bit peaky."

"I'm fine, just marvy," Amane said, noting her voice sounded high pitched and stressed and she pleaded with her sluggish nerves and racing thoughts to give her a moment of peace so she could _think _of how to explain to her brother that she'd invited their estranged father to come back to Domino early... That she'd promised he'd come along... "How're you? Work was good?"

"Nothing too exciting, stocking and working the cash register..." Ryou answered slowly, still peering at her strangely. "I'm fine, thank you." He took a seat on the other end of the sofa, moving a pile of his jeans to the floor before blinking in surprise. "You did my laundry?"

Amane laughed nervously, cursing her nerves for preventing her from just getting a grip (_"Amy, did you take you medication?"_). "Uhm, yeah. I hope you don't mind, I was just looking for something to do today." _Tell him, you coward. Tell him already before you lose it completely. _

Ryou stared at her for a moment, but smiled despite her strangeness. "Thank you!" Her brother said, "You really didn't have to do that."

"It was my pleasure," She all but squeaked in response, trying unsuccessfully to sound nonchalant about it. At Ryou's questioning look, she cleared her throat. "Really, don't worry about it. It was nothing."

"Okay," He said with a nod, reaching toward the pile to still be folded again, and straightening out a t-shirt. "Did you do anything fun today? I mean, I'm sure my laundry was _thrilling,_ but..."

Amane smiled, and it only wavered a little. _Oh yeah, I intercepted a call Daddy made to you. Here I go, stealing away all the attention from you again. Not sure you'll mind that; just the part where he's coming here soon... That won't be a problem, will it? ("Amy, that is no way to talk to your brother!"). _"Nope. Too rainy to do very much, I guess. Plus I'm still recuperating from last night."

Ryou smiled knowingly, "Now that I completely understand."

"Yeah," Amane said with a somewhat listless shrug. "My head's been killing me all day."

Ryou winced, "Yeah, mine too. When did we start doing shots of tequila?"

Amane grinned, "Somewhere between Yuugi confiscating your phone and Yuugi stealing my shoes." She smiled hard when she finished speaking because if she kept smiling she could ignore the voice in the back of her mind demanding to know why the hell she'd been drinking again because drinking was a trigger and it was stupid and she was so so stupid and all she wanted to just to slow everything down, just slow it all down so she could ignore her Gran's voice shouting at her about drinking. From far away it seemed, Ryou said something about Yuugi being the worst out of all of his friends when it came to drinking... never knowing when to stop.

_"Sound familiar, Amy?"_

"Amane?" Ryou tentative voice somehow slipped into her disordered thoughts, interrupting her. "You don't look well... Are you sure you're alright?"

_"Alright? Of course she's not alright, you ignorant boy, can't you see the signs? She's distracted, losing grip on reality... Can you hear me, Amy? I'm talking to you! Pay attention; focus. No, I know it's not your fault, you're not trying to hurt him but you will when he finds out what you've done and he'll want you gone and you'll have to come back to me, Amy, because I'll take care of you just like I always have."_

"I'm just a little... distracted," Amane admitted, noting how fast the words spilled from her mouth and she needed to slow down damn it.

"Did something happen?" Ryou asked, concern seeping into his words.

_Oh, you've no idea..._

"Nothing worth reporting..." Amane lied (blatantly). "Hey, have you eaten?"

Ryou shook his head, looking a little bit startled at the sudden topic change. "No, I haven't."

"Great! Let's get something to eat; I'm starving!" She said brightly, grasping at the faint hint of euphoria she could feel blooming within with both hands. _"Must you always tell such lies, Amy?"_

"Okay..." Ryou seemed a little thrown by her enthusiasm, but smiled regardless. "Let me just go and get my jacket."

As he walked out of the room, Amane sighed, fidgeting a little. "I need a goddamn cigarette..."

* * *

The pair of white haired siblings set out into the cold night. The temperature had dropped considerably since Ryou's earlier ventures outdoors; the sudden drop had caused the freezing rain from earlier in the day to transform into a light, powdery snow. Temporary, Ryou thought, it wouldn't even last long enough to survive more than a few minutes on the ground. He glanced over at Amane, who was walking considerably faster than he was; if her tracks in the fleeting snow were any indication, she was stopping every ten feet or so to allow him to catch up. Ryou's lips were tugged up into a smile, recalling their mother who'd often be forced to slow down and give her children time to catch up to her longer, quicker strides.

"Amane?"

She turned back to look at him. Her eyes were wide; when he got closer, Ryou could see himself reflected in those eyes. It made him blink. Is that how he looked to the world around him? Is that how Amane saw him? Too pale, too thin, too exhausted. Weak.

"Where did you want to go for dinner?" Ryou heard himself asking, feeling a vague disconnected with the words leaving his lips.

Amane shrugged, a strange twitchy smile on her lips. "I du-dunno," Her teeth chattered as she spoke; it was then that Ryou noticed her jacket. Leather, yes, but thin and it didn't appear as if she had worn anything too substantial under it. A dark sweatshirt was visible under the jacket, but Ryou watched her shiver with a frown. "S-somewhere close, maybe?"

Ryou smiled thinly, "There's a pizza place down the street?" He suggested it hopefully, hoping she'd take it just so they could get out of this cold.

"P-perfect!" She chattered, smiling that strange jittery smile again. She stopped suddenly, and Ryou halted to meet her gaze, clouded with something he couldn't identify in her eyes.

"I-" Amane began, but stopped short. She bit her lip, and Ryou waited, hoping whatever was on her mind would just be brought out into the open. She started walking again, Ryou trailing behind, wondering.

This whole situation was so foreign to him, he realized. He didn't know how to act around his sister because he could barely remember a time when he'd had a sister. It was awkward because they'd grown up apart, unaware of each other. Save for a handful of childhood memories and blood relations, they had nothing in common. It was normal, natural, to react this way. To feel disconnected and desperate and a little bit frightened over the whole situation... wasn't it? Was he a bad brother for wondering these things?

Somewhere in his mind, he thought he knew the answer.

The pair walked quickly, together, twin heads of white hair bowed against the icy wind. Arriving at the brightly lit little place, the pair ducked inside. Ryou waited for Amane to order a pizza with everything (at least their taste in food had remained similar), and afterward he immediately offered up the money for the the meal.

They took a seat at a table, a relatively uncomfortable silence enveloping them. Ryou realized, with a startled blink, that they didn't really have much to talk about.

"I miss her," Amane said, breaking the silence. "Mum, that is. I've never had anybody but Gran to miss her with. I don't really remember a time when I had anybody but Gran... and now I know I've spent half my life being lied to. I don't know what to do. I got on a plane without thinking; I wanted to see for myself that you were real, that you were alive... But now..."

"It's confusing," Ryou supplied, shoulders slumping in a strange sense of defeat. "And the craziness surrounding me isn't helping."

"I don't mind your crazy," She said with a grin, "It distracts from mine."

Ryou opened his mouth to ask what she meant when the waiter brought over their pizza, and he knew it was not the time to discuss it. He felt a sadness settle around him when he realized that there may never be a time when it would be alright to discuss it. He looked up at the stranger across the table from him, this stranger with the same blood type, who he'd shared a childhood with and nothing more. He looked at her, and waited for the sense of familiarity with her. For the protectiveness, the fierce loyalty, the knowing smile, for everything that used to come so naturally, so automatically; he waited for the feeling that they knew and loved and cared for each other. It didn't come. Ryou frowned. This girl was _Amane_; this girl was the family he'd been missing and wishing for since they'd left him in the first place. She was back, she was alive, she was here and she wanted to be in his life. But he didn't know how to act, how to feel. He didn't know how to have family anymore, and he worried it was because he'd been alone for far too long. He was afraid that his deficiency would take her away before he had a chance to relearn to be her brother.

Amane looked back at him, caught him staring. She smiled (it looked sympathetic), "I don't know how to do this..."

"Me either."

"I mean," She paused, blowing a stream of air up at her bangs, ruffling them. "I've spent so much time just hoping and praying I'd get to see you again... I wanted my brother back, my family back! I guess I never really considered the fact that when and if we ever saw each other again... We don't really _know _each other anymore. How fucked up is that? How does that make any sense?"

Ryou could not find his voice, it was as if she'd known exactly what was on his mind. It was quiet, then, a tense quiet where everything seemed to hang on whatever would be said next.

And then, finally, Ryou spoke with a confidence he didn't feel, "We'll figure it out."

And then Amane smiled. "Yeah, I'm sure we will." She blew her bangs up again, drumming her fingers on the tabletop. She seemed like she was about to say something, but instead she picked up a slice of pizza.

* * *

Bakura was unhappily locking the door to his glorified closet, trying to mentally prepare himself for his sure to be unpleasant walk out of doors. Having no phone had finally begun to bother him, as the collection of little plastic pieces sitting in a heap in the corner could do little for him when he wanted to feed himself. And seeing as he had no skills to speak of with the appliances in his kitchen (with the exception of the toaster... which realized with embarrassment he had been attempting to rename while half asleep a few days before), acquiring sustenance required leaving the warmth of his tiny hole in the wall to brave the outside world. Before leaving, Bakura had noted with surprised that it was actually _not _raining for what felt like the first time in weeks. So, at least he had _that _to look forward to when he went outside. Sighing, and resigning himself to the fact that his stomach wouldn't stop making obnoxious gurgling noises until he put something into it, Bakura descended the stairs and stepped out into the positively freezing air of the streets of Domino.

Frowning to himself, Bakura realized in his haste to vacate his empty apartment, he hadn't actually chosen where to eat yet. Suddenly though, the thought of eating alone... in public, seemed oddly humiliating. Not to mention, being alone more often than not was taken as an invitation for people to talk to him. Bakura grimaced. He just had no will to talk to strangers; that was all he did most days as it was. Nothing really confirmed that you deserved to be hated than being hung up on an average of thirty times daily. He had no way to relate to these people... With a strange twist in his stomach, Bakura noted to himself that he didn't really know how to relate to _anyone. _

_Pathetic, _he called himself. Glaring at what appeared to be a stray dog as he took a few steps out of doors, Bakura was forced to look up when something very wet and very _cold _hit him directly between the eyes. His crimson eyes widened; snow. Snowing, it was fucking snowing. He briefly just considered turning around and forgoing eating at all because he was not in the mood to deal with rain's colder, meaner cousin. But at that moment Bakura's stomach complained to loudly that a woman standing at a crosswalk beside him glanced over in alarm. _Fucking fantastic, _he thought to himself. Starving, and walking around in the god damned snow. He was beginning to wonder idly what else would go badly for him in the near future (_Because bad things happen to bad people, and that is most definitely what you are. Isn't that right?_) when a voice coming from somewhere in the distance startled him out of his thoughts.

"Ryou?"

Bakura chose to just ignore the person. They'd figure it out sooner or later, and he wasn't in the most helpful of moods. He could hear the sounds of somebody quickly squishing through the grayish layer of snowy slush covering the cross walk. Sighing internally, he peaked over his shoulder quickly to see the Pharaoh's light rushing in his direction. Bakura watched as the idiot was nearly taken out by a bus which had expertly run it's red light. As the multicolored head of hair approached, Bakura silently wished that he could have been hit by that bus to avoid what was sure to be uncomfortable conversation... He could no longer count on people just running off when the realized it was him.

"Ryou!" the voice of Yuugi Mutou called again. The smaller person had caught up to Bakura now, and was smiling widely (though the former thief noticed his eyes looked a bit bloodshot). "Hey!" The smile vanished when Bakura looked over at him. "Oh! S-sorry," Yuugi's face immediately flooded with color, and be began distancing himself ever so slightly. "You two look identical from a distance." He let out a nervous laugh.

"So I've been told, " Bakura said quietly.

"So..." Yuugi said, the expression on his face a little desperate as he pushed on with the conversation, "How have you been?"

Bakura literally stopped and stared at him. "I'm...fine," He settled on, suddenly worried that he had somehow found himself trapped in an uncomfortable conversation.

"Me too," Yuugi practically squeaked, and Bakura wondered internally if at 20 years this kid was still going through puberty. "Great, in fact. I'm just great."

"Right then," Bakura said, hoping to simply walk in a different direction and end the conversation.

"Just fantastic," Yuugi carried on, color remaining in his cheeks and the tip of his nose, "Never mind the fact that my whole life just blew up in my face."

Bakura knew he was staring, but he could not stop himself. This was simply too bizarre. Never once in his whole life did he think he'd be forced to converse with person, yet here Bakura stood, open mouthed and staring as the boy with tricolored hair angrily clenched his fists, his face growing redder and redder and suddenly Bakura was gripped with the feeling of panic as he watched what appeared to be tears forming in his unlikely companion's eyes. "A-are you okay?" He blurted, hoping at the very least that it would distract the Pharaoh's light long enough to halt the tantrum brewing.

"No!" The other boy hiccuped, hands covering his face for a moment. Bakura could see his shoulders shaking silently, but awkwardly looked just over Yuugi's head, hoping to give him some degree of privacy to stop humiliating himself. He sighed deeply, looking with watery red eyes up at Bakura (who, he could see in the reflection of those amethyst eyes looked positively horrified, like he'd witnessed a murder or something similar...no, no, murder wouldn't be this _appalling_ to the former thief...). "No, I'm not okay. B-but thanks... for a-" he hiccuped again, "A-asking."

"You're welcome," Bakura mumbled, looking away as if he hoped when he looked back that the crying boy would simply disappear.

"I just cannot believe him," Yuugi moaned, sinking down onto a nearby bench. Bakura stood at a slight distance, as if to ensure an escaped route. "First he steals her away before I've even had my chance... and now he's leaving with her. Just like that, up and moving to New York with her. _Together. _It's a little bit sickening, really..."

Bakura blinked a few times. His curiosity about the complaints won out though, and despite the protests of what he considered to be his more reasonable side and his growling stomach, Bakura opened his mouth.. "Who are you talking about?" He wondered idly whether or not that would seem rude, then decided he wasn't too concerned considering his company. He doubted the Pharaoh's light would have high expectations for his skills in the realm of social conventions. In the meantime, he fished a wrinkled old tissue packet out of his inner pocket (a relic of Ryou's-_hey, first try that time, that _had _to be an improvemen_t- past thoughtfulness when this jacket adorned _his _body rather than Bakura's, though the yami had some doubts that he had ever actually used a _kleenex _because there was just something pathetic about the little paper tissues in themselves). Without another word, he thrust them into the other boy's hand, the Pharaoh's hikari would mop up the mess he was making of his face and get a hold of himself.

"Atemu," Yuugi answered morosely, accepting the tissues and loudly blowing his nose. "...And Anzu. Both of them." He blinked a few times. "Do you remember Anzu?"

The image of a chatty brunette who seemed to have a really unhealthy belief in the "powers of friendship" flashed across his mind; he vaguely recalled Malik mentioning having made use of her body at one point. Bakura nodded, as the story was pieced together in his mind. The Pharaoh was running away with one of his light's friends, and little Yuugi was not happy. Interesting.

"Well..." Yuugi's cheeks lit up yet again, "I've more or less been in love with her for years... and I totally froze whenever I tried to tell her. And then _he _comes back and sweeps her off her feet..." He rather violently crumpled his kleenex. "And now they are leaving together, to go do romantic couple-y things in New York! I mean... I always knew _she _was going, but now she's got to take my best friend with her?"

"He's your best friend?" Bakura found himself interrupting, somehow having a hard time picturing this. From what he had gathered, while they were on better terms, the Pharaoh and Yuugi had some variation of what seemed to be the typical yami-hikari relationship. They'd had to share a body; obviously that had made for conflict. Yet here the boy sat, earnestly calling his yami - his fucking _darkness_- his best friend.

"Well, he _was,_" Yuugi said, sounding hurt. "I'm not sure what kind of friend completely disregards his friend's feelings."

Bakura felt a bit ill at that, though he wasn't sure why.

"I mean, he is being so _selfish!_" Yuugi continued. "It was one thing to just start seeing her without even stopping to think I might be a little unhappy with it... But now. Fuck him. This is such bullshit. My life was so much less complicated before he came along, and he doesn't even care. He just doesn't see that he is _hurting _me, just so long as he gets what he wants."

Bakura swallowed hard. He'd heard those words before. They'd hurt, but they'd been true.

...And because some part of him would like to see that thrust on the Pharaoh, Bakura asked a question.

"Have you told him?"

"Would it matter?" Yuugi shot back. "Have you ever tried dealing with..." He flushed again, "Well, of course you have... But he thinks he is so _entitled _to whatever the hell he wants. Absolutely no regard for anyone else's feelings. He doesn't even... love Anzu. He just wants her because she wants him. And because he can just waltz back in after three fucking years and screw up everything. You know, I _missed _him when he was gone! But now! Now, I wish he'd never come back."

Yuugi paused, his eyes narrowed. "Why are you even listening to this? You don't care."

_Don't answer, it's a trap, _Bakura thought.

"Really, I'm sure you don't have any interest in my failing love life," Yuugi went on, "So why sit here and listen to me? What are you getting out of this?"

"Nothing," Bakura answered truthfully, trying to keep his tone neutral. "But you seemed upset and it would be rather rude to just ignore you..."

Yuugi stared at him. "You'd care about being _rude_?" He sounded accusatory. "To me?"=

Bakura rolled his eyes, feeling his own face warm up uncomfortably. "I don't know!" He ground out, "Would you prefer me to taunt you a little and then leave?"

Yuugi surveyed Bakura seriously for a few minutes, "You're... different."

"And you're taller," Bakura responded, "Are we going to sit here and point out the obvious forever? Because it is freezing."

"I'm sure I'm keeping you from something incredibly pressing," Yuugi said, crossing his arms.

Bakura inhaled, reminding himself that he would certainly not let this little twerp's words sting... "I.." He closed his mouth. Bakura realized, embarrassed, that he had absolutely nothing to say in response. The only thing this glorified dwarf was keeping him from was a lonely meal. Which, at this point, he might as well just skip. As pathetic as it was, his appetite had vanished when this conversation had turned to whatever the hell his disgustingly pathetically existence was supposed to be.

"I'm sorry," Yuugi said suddenly. "That was rude of me. You've been nice enough to listen to me bitch... And I'm insulting you."

"Happens," Bakura muttered, shrugging.

"Yeah, but I typically try not to be the one to do that," Explained the Pharaoh's light. "What were you doing when I stopped you?"

Bakura rocked back on his heels, then forward again. "I was going to get food," He explained, rather lamely. Sheepish almost, as if there was some shame in admitting that yes, he, the former villain of the story, ate. Three times a day, give or take a meal. Somehow this was degrading, and Bakura stared up into the light of a street lamp, watching as the snowflakes which had been falling had grown in number and size. Thick flakes rained down in sheets, and Bakura found himself shivering with the sudden realization that he'd been out in the _snow _for far too long at this point. Glancing quickly at his unfortunate companion, he felt under dressed for the weather. The Pharaoh's light was decked out in a thick jacket, gloves, a scarf... Bakura noted he had no hat, but did not even bother wondering how somebody got a hat over _that _head of hair. By comparison, Bakura was just in a jacket which was not necessarily suited for the weather. He willed himself not to start shivering... Because turning into a shivering wreck in the company of his... enemy?... in the company of someone who disliked greatly's hikari was just _not _an option.

"Oh," Yuugi said. "I'm supposed to be somewhere anyways..." He looked at Bakura strangely, and the white haired man knew he was being lied to, but didn't have the energy to mention this. No point. "Thank you... for listening, I guess."

"No problem," Bakura said, vaguely, watching as the boy hurried away from him. He shook his head a few times, before turning and heading back in the direction of his apartment. He wasn't hungry anyways.

* * *

Malik was sprawled out on his sofa in his well lit living room. He was clad in a pair of admittedly unattractive sweats and an embarrassing tourist t-shirt displaying a screen of a pyramid and a camel, with _EGYPT _printed across the chest in large block letters which had been purchased in a moment of desperate necessity years before, and had somehow stowed away into his belongings upon his emigration to Domino City. On his nose sat a pair of plastic framed glasses which rarely ever saw the light of day, and he was contentedly reading out of a copy of a thick fantasy novel when he felt his mobile phone vibrating in the pocket of his ugly sweats. Scrambling to answer the call, Malik picked up on the last ring before the call would have been banished to the purgatory of his seldom checked voice mail. "Hello?"

"Hi," Came the relieved sigh of a female voice.

Malik was half tempted to chuck the phone across the room and hide behind his couch because he was certainly _not _in the market for female company this evening (especially not considering what he was wearing... and the fact that the last week had left him with something like a permanent hangover). Convincing himself he was being ridiculous, Malik chanced the question he was mostly dreading the answer to. "May I... uh... May I ask who's calling?"

"It's Amane," At the answer, Malik realized he ought to have known right away who was calling him, because he couldn't recall any other girls he knew with a prominent British accent (though, considering his track record he could not legitimately rule the possibility out). "Look, I know this is a bit awkward seeing as we don't really know each other all too well, but I'm kind of freaking out right now and I need somebody more level headed than I am to give me advice." The words came out in a rush, and Malik took a moment to translate the blur into an actual sentence.

"O-kay..." Malik answered slowly, setting down his book and sitting up straight on his couch. "What's up?"

"Alright, now for the more awkward bit... I'd rather not be overheard explaining this, so can I maybe rudely invite myself over to your place?"

Malik took a moment to glance around his rather unkempt living space with a grimace, but answered, "S-sure, come on over. Do you need me to pick you up or something?"

"No, I..." She paused and sighed, "I'm sort of standing outside your building, but I forgot which apartment was yours."

Malik could feel the blood draining from his face, and his mouth went rather dry. "Right, right... Uh... Um... don't worry about it, I'll- I'll just buzz you in, okay?" Malik found himself saying, "I'm on the fifth floor... Apartment 5B, okay?" He walked over toward his buzzer and pressed the button labeled "DOOR". "I'll see you in a few."

He glanced around, somewhat helplessly, at his untidy apartment and then down, horrified, at the way he was dressed. Before Malik could muster the energy to go and change into something less... _repulsive_... there was a knock at his door. Grumbling a little to himself (Sundays were supposed to be his night off, damn it), Malik crossed his living room and unlocked his door. As the wooden frame swung upon, it revealed a dripping, twitchy teenage girl with snow melting in her hair, holding a Styrofoam box in her left hand. "If it helps, I brought leftover pizza?"she said sheepishly. "Peace offering after my appalling behavior last night?"

"To be honest, it does," Malik said with a smile. "Come on in," Said, trying to sound inviting, and holding the door open for her to enter the small apartment, and locked the door behind him.

Amane glanced around, a strange look overtaking her pale face. "You have a lot of lights on in here," She commented.

Malik shrugged, not daring to admit that he never turned off all of the lights simply because of his upbringing in the dark. Small act of rebellion. _Take that darkness, I have electricity now._ _Mwahaha._ "So, what brings you here today?" He asked, somewhat awkwardly. Usually, _usually_, after he slept with a girl they went away. Like, permanently. Forever. They didn't show up asking for advice after like threatening to _stab_ him the night before.

...Though, he ought to be used to that threat by now. It was how Bakura said hello, after all.

"You sound like my shrink," Amane accused, smiling after a moment to show she meant it as a joke.

"Thanks," Malik said with a smile, "It's Career Option Number Two, so I'm glad I can voice the part." The two laughed, awkward in the way it always is after one person owns up to therapy, which while it was acceptable in modern times, was still seen as admitting to a "problem." Malik stared at the sopping girl, standing awkwardly before clutching a dripping jacket. "Oh, damn it, you can just throw your jacket over a chair or something..."

"Thanks," Amane said, tossing her coat over a kitchen chair and returning to the living space to take a seat beside Malik. As she plopped down, she sighed. "Thank you again for letting me come over."

"Not a problem," Malik said, shrugging off the annoyance he'd had mere moments before. "So? You needed advice?"

"Uh, like you've no idea," Amane said, rubbing the bridge of her nose. She nervously ran a hand through her hair, "So, while I was at Ryou's today, his phone rings... And I let the machine pick it up, because I don't want to intercept any important calls or anything. Being polite, and all. Well..." Here she blew out a long stream of air, "The machine picks up, and it's our father."

"Jesus," Malik said, lavender eyes wide behind his black plastic frames. "What did he want?"

"To tell Ryou he was coming in to town with some exhibit in a few weeks," Amane said, "And that he thought they should talk or something... He sounded almost apologetic, which if memory serves is some kind of miracle for my father. Probably means something terrifying idiotic on his part, but that isn't important right now. So, he's carrying on, sounding perhaps like he might step up the parental plate after twenty years... But, _fuck,_ I don't know what I was thinking... I picked up the phone..."

Malik nodded, mildly perplexed. He wasn't exactly sure where this was going.

"Our father doesn't... or rather, _didn't _even know I was alive," Amane said, staring down at the carpeting. "And I just pick the phone up... Stupid..."

"Not the worst thing," Malik said. "Did he take it well? Believe you?"

"Not at first," Amane sighed. "In fact, it took about half an hour to convince him... But once I did," She paused, looking miserable. "He always favored me. Always. And as soon as I had him convinced, it was like Ryou had never even existed... Like he was an afterthought..."

"Well, I'm sure he was just in shock to hear from you..." Malik said slowly. He could understand her concern, but she seemed to be over thinking her father's reaction just a little. In Malik's mind, the man was probably just elated to hear from a child he thought he had lost.

"Yeah, but..." Amane began, then stopped herself. "I dunno. I'm not sure how this is all supposed to work. All I know is I got in the way. They might've starting speaking again, and I got all jumpy and needy and I picked up."

"It's understandable though," Malik said, but Amane rushed on.

"I just got frightened, strange I know! But I was upset... and I didn't tell Ryou," She said, so fast it took him a moment to catch on. "I didn't tell him anything, I just went and got dinner with him and I didn't say anything at all!"

Malik blinked a few times. "You... didn't tell him." A statement, not a question.

"I didn't tell him and the machine deleted the message..." Amane said, a rush of words that Malik nearly asked her to repeat herself (slowly, less emotional, if you please). "It _deleted_ it, and I was too much of a coward to tell him... It was selfish, and stupid, all because he got to have a dad and I didn't and..." Malik was alarmed as he saw that her chocolate eyes had flooded, but the tears had not spilled over. "I am a bad person."

Malik couldn't keep a smile from his face, mind flashing to the far more terrible things he'd done (ignoring the things Mariku had done). "Trust me, accidentally deleting an answering machine message is hardly the worst thing you could have done."

"What do I do?" Desperate, she sounded desperate. He wanted that desperation out of her voice, because it made him uncomfortable...

"Just tell Ryou what happened. He certainly won't be mad at you," Malik answered with a confidence he certainly did not feel. "Just tell him. It'll be fine."

She sighed then, a great sigh. "Okay. Okay. Thank you."

"Not a problem," Malik said, smiling and feeling entirely unsure of what exactly he was supposed to be doing. It suddenly felt like his clothes (atrocious as he knew they were) had suddenly ceased to fit him correctly, that his hair was an unfortunate mess and wondering why the hell he was so concerned about these little things just because the girl sitting across the couch from him... had a name? And clothes on?

Malik sighed, at a complete loss for words. He simply looked on at the girl sitting beside him, looking so conflicted (and so obviously jittery that it only added to his nerves). "So..." He said, knowing it was the wrong thing to say, but unsure of where to go from there.

"So, I was bribing you with leftovers?" Amane prompted, a twitchy little smile appearing on her lips.

"Yes, you were," Malik said with a slightly uncomfortable smile.

"So, cold or should I venture into the kitchen in search of the microwave?"

"Cold's fine," Malik answered, having already reached into the box and salvaged a slice loaded with toppings. He knew that at his core, somewhere inside, he was simply eating to have his mouth full so he wouldn't be responsible for continuing the conversation. He was rubbish at conversing. He hoped, now that she seemed a little calmer, now that she seemed placated, that maybe she'd just be the one to start talking. And hopefully before this slice disappeared.

No such luck. Malik swallowed the last bite of the pizza, waiting desperately for Amane to say something, anything, _for the love of God break the silence! _Because she was staring at him and he didn't know what to say...

She cleared her throat.

"Why did..." Amane stopped and in the few moments in which she sighed and considered her words, Malik swore he'd died been resurrected, tortured, and still she hadn't said a word. "Why did you let me..." Amane paused again, wrinkling her nose.

Malik realized suddenly that he was holding his breath waiting for the end of the question. He exhaled. Inhaled. Fidgeted, tugged at his tacky t-shirt and yanked violently on his head of messy sand colored hair (all the while thinking that he couldn't believe he'd identified his hair color with _sand_).

"Why did you take me home yesterday?" Amane settled on, a slightly sour look on her face as if she had meant to phrase it differently.

"I didn't know who you were," Malik said instantly. He regretted it immediately though. It made him sound like some cheap, bed hopping whore (...there was truth in that, but for some reason he didn't want Amane to know this about him).

"But if you had?" She raised her dark eyebrows, staring at him.

"I probably wouldn't have slept with you..." Malik said, quietly. Embarrassed. God, this was awful.

"Why not?"

"I try not to make a habit of sleeping with my best friends' little sisters," Malik supplied dryly, having no better answer for her.

But suddenly, she was beaming. "Ryou's one of your best friends?"

He blinked in surprise. "Yeah, I guess."

"Thank God," Amane said. "I think he needs sane friends. Yuugi and Otogi and Anzu and Atemu...? Not a lot of sanity in that bunch."

Malik laughed; he couldn't help it. It was just so absurd to hear somebody call him _sane _in comparison to his friends. They all had a tight grip on reality; he felt like he had to cling on to it for dear life just to keep his imagination from growing too wild. "Trust me, I am _not _the sane one in the group. Far from it."

"Really now?" The words sounded like a challenge. "Prove it."

Malik's mouth was suddenly dry. "W-what?"

"Come on," Amane said, a good natured smile on her face. "We'll play truth or dare."

Malik felt his face heat suddenly. "I've never played."

Amane blinked once or twice, "Well, right there is proof for your insanity. Who has never played truth or dare? I thought that was like _required_ once you hit puberty."

"I didn't get out much when I was younger," Malik replied, quietly. _Not lying,_ he insisted to himself, just not the whole story. _Nobody needs the whole truth._

"Oh, then we must play," Amane giggled. "The rules are simple. You pick truth or dare. If you pick truth, I ask you a question and, you have to answer it truthfully. If you pick dare, I dare you to do anything I come up with. And then, I pick truth or dare, and you get to ask me a question or give me a dare."

"And why are we playing?" Malik asked, hesitant.

"Because it is fun," Amane said with a devilish grin, "And perhaps it'll prove just how _crazy _you are."

He swallowed hard. This was terrifying. Simply terrifying, who the hell would agree to this it was stupid and just plain _stupid_ but she was smiling at him and his was just had BAD IDEA written all over it and he could hear an opera singer belting the word "MISTAAAAAAAKE" in his mind and _God I have got to stop watching so much television..._

"Okay, so," Amane was smiling happily, "Truth or dare?"

**Thanks for reading, and I'd really love it if you'd review!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Er- Hi everybody. I want to apologize for taking like a decade to update. Finals and a bunch of other lame excuses. But I'm on break for about a month now, so hopefully I'll squeeze in at least one more update before it's over. So, please don't hate me for my procrastination!**

**As always, a million thanks to Tet of 1999 for beta-ing, and coming up with a lot of the playlist. **

**So, enjoy the chapter! **

**Chapter Nine Playlist: **

1. Let's Get Fucked Up and Die - Motion City Soundtrack  
2. Grapevine Fires -Death Cab for Cutie  
3. Don't Make Me a Target - Spoon  
4. I Used to Have a Heart - Say Anything  
5. Haule Haule - Sukhwinder Singh from the Rab Ne Bana De Jodi Soundtrack  
(Alternative Track: The Word of Your Body - Wendla and Melchior, Spring Awakening)

**Chapter Nine**

"Truth?"

Amane blinked, _Truth, huh? Perfect, just perfect. _Cat-like grin stretching across her face, Amane thought for a moment. Deciding to play it safe, and pick a typical opener question, she asked, "What is your most embarrassing childhood memory?" Simple, right? Feel him out, see how honest he'd be. Childhood was embarrassing, wasn't it? Simple question, simple answer. Easy. No brainer. She grinned, hard, assuming that her simple answer was soon to follow.

"Define childhood...?" _Nervous Nellie, this one._ His voice shook, literally shook. He didn't seem so smooth tonight, no not like before, now he wore glasses and sweats and he seemed nervous around her (she liked it).

"Oh... Anything before your turned... Twelve?" Twelve was good, though her childhood certainly took a nose dive at five (and again at eight). But twelve is where the disillusionment kicked in. So, twelve it was.

"Oh... Okay," Malik heaved a nervous sigh and there was a faint blush creeping onto his face as he thought about his answer. Well, he certainly looked thoughtful. Or maybe like he was going to be violently ill, but passing it off as thoughtful.

_Must have been a damn embarrassing childhood. _

He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, tugged at a lock of his hair and thrust it behind his ear. Earrings, he wore gold earrings. How had she missed that before? Amane opened her eyes wide.. _wider, damn it_... as if to try and latch onto any other details she might have missed.

"What if I don't have an answer?" He sputtered after a moment or two.

"Of course you do," She smiled hard again, _friendly friendly friendly._ "Come on now, out with it."

"Uh..." He closed those violet eyes for a moment. "I guess probably when... I was maybe five, and I was... playing with my older sister... and I told her I wanted to marry her." His face was quite flushed.

"Aww, that's cute!" Amane said, grinning. To be honest, that wasn't terribly embarrassing, but she was more interested in the new information. Sibling. He had a sibling. "You have a sister then?"

"And a brother," Malik answered with a nod.

"Did you want to marry him too?" Amane teased, and Malik, doing the mature thing, stuck his tongue out at her. She giggled, actually girlishly giggled, and the noise felt foreign coming from her throat. Had she forgotten how to giggle? _Probably_. "Older or younger?"

"Older, they're both older. I'm the youngest."

"Sweet," Amane grinned. "Your turn."

"Okay," Malik said, though it sounded a little like he was psyching himself up for it rather than speaking to her. Odd. Odd kid. "Truth or dare?"

"Dare." She answered confidently, raising her eyebrows, goading him. Daring him. _C'mon, c'mon, bring it on. _

"Okay... I dare you to..." He trailed off, building the tension in that delightful slumber party kind of way that brought her mind spiraling back to one of those brilliant sleepover parties from her days as a care free young girl. It was something like an echo; a half remembered story about a relative she'd only met once. "...Call Otogi."

"Mean," She giggled, (_actually giggled!) _whipping out her mobile. She'd certainly have to make this call interesting. Amane dialed, having put his number in her phone at some point the night before though the memory was faint and hazy. "Ringing..." The anticipation was building in her stomach. Amane frowned when the call went to voicemail, but then winked devilishly at her partner who looked at her puzzlingly. "Hey, Otogi," She said in a very breathy voice. "It's Amane, we met last night. Anyways," She knew she was making unnecessary bedroom eyes, but it only made Malik blush deeper so it was worth it. _Hmm... I like that color on your cheeks, babe. Ha. Don't say that out loud, it's awfully creepy. Do not scare him away. _She licked her lips, returning her attention to the voicemail, "I really found your... _scent _to be so..._very._.. enticing... I was wondering if you could give me the name of it? Thanks!" Amane hung up, pleased to see she had made Malik snicker a few times.

"Nice," He said, nodding in approval, blush still fading from his cheeks.

"Alright, truth or dare?"

"Truth."

_Again... hmm...Not playing to nicely this round, sorry. _"Alright, then: what is the one thing you do not want to have to answer a question about?"

Blood rushed from his face. _Funny, he wasn't nearly this painfully shy yesterday..._ "My back." Whispered words, almost.

"Fair enough."

"Truth or dare?" A little more confidence this time. _Good boy._

"Truth," Tempting, what he could ask was going on behind those lavender eyes anyways? She wanted to know. Needed to, almost. Damn addictive personality; she needed too much.

"What is the scariest thing you've ever seen?"

It was like being punched in the stomach; unexpected. _Oh, god damn it, no..._ Eyes wide, smile vanished, she cleared her throat a few times before she could form the words on her dry tongue and she thought about lying because it was easier than the truth... because that truth... it was too hard... But something told her that she could trust him not to freak out on her, not to get all funny and sympathetic and weird toward her, and so she tentatively opening her mouth, parted her lips and said the one thing she'd never been able to say to anybody before, "The scariest thing I've ever seen was the look on Ryou's face when he found our mother's body."

Malik blinked rapidly, smile vanishing.

She pressed on. "He was covered in her blood... she'd slit her wrists in the bathtub, suicide... and he had slipped on her blood because it was all over the floor. It -the blood- had gone everywhere and when I looked at him, when he walked out of the bathroom... at first he was shaking and crying and then...he was quiet and he wasn't afraid anymore and he... wasn't him anymore. It was like he'd vanished, and he wouldn't let me see _her._" She rubbed her temples. "I don't remember much after that."

"I am so sorry," Malik looked mortified.

"No worries," Her smile was firmly back in was shifting gears faster than she could in a car. "You couldn't have known. Okay, truth or dare?" There was an edge her voice, a clear note that said not to protest the continuation of the game.

"Seriously, I am so so sorry," Malik repeated. He looked... she couldn't understand his look, really, but it looked sad. Defeated. Like a kicked puppy or something.

"Really, it's okay," She said, smiling. _Big smile, like you mean it. _ "Truth or dare?"

"I-"

"Truth or dare?"

"D-dare," He stuttered, violet eyes still too wide behind those plastic frames.

"I dare you to help me construct an epic pillow fort while we continue to play," Amane said with a smile. _Lighten the mood, make this less awkward..._"And lighten up kid. My mom's dead; I've had enough therapy to not have a meltdown over mentioning it."

"Okay..." he said with an unsure smile. "How do you make a pillow fort?"

"Seriously?" Amane said, hands on her hips as she stood. "You have been so deprived. Twenty years old, and you've never even made a proper fort. We'll need spare pillows and blankets."  
He took off down the hall to fetch some from a closet, and she followed him. His place was rather untidy, clothes strewn about. She kind of liked that; made it look like he wasn't trying to impress anybody. A lot of lights on, even in the halls. Very bright. She wondered idly about his electric bill. "Your turn to ask, by the way," She grinned, taking a large pile of blankets out of his tanned arms.

"Okay, truth or dare?"

"Truth," She answered, confident. _Bring it. I want to know what you're wondering._

"What was the last lie you told?" Malik asked.

"You mean other than being intoxicated by Otogi's odor?" Amane giggled. "I guess I was lying when I told Ryou about how I got here... I'd told him I had burned through my savings. Truth is, I don't even have a savings. I stole my Gran's credit card."

"Ouch," Malik said, a small grin playing on his face.

"Well, the bitch had it coming," Amane said firmly. "The least she can do fund a trip to find my long-lost brother."_As if that was the only reason I flew across the world. _ Amane began unfolding the blankets, and draped one from the back of his sofa to one of his tall lamps, where she secured it by knotting the fraying corner around the arm of the lamp.

"I guess," Malik nodded. He watched her curiously, and then mirrored her moves with a different blanket and a second lamp. "The pillows?"

"They'll go inside of it," Amane said, smiling as she climbed under the tent-like structure they'd built so far. "Make the walls and such. Truth or dare, by the way?"

Malik climbed inside as well, dragging two overstuffed pillows behind him. "Truth."

"If your back isn't a massive tattoo, which is what I've gathered by your aversion of the topic, then what exactly is it?"

"Scars," Malik muttered, stacking a few pillows rather violently. "It's covered in scars."

Now it was Amane's turn to look a bit ashamed. "Oh," She said softly. "I'm..."

"No, don't worry about it," Malik cut her off. "You didn't know. Truth or dare?"

"Um..." She was still mildly shell shocked. "Dare."

"You've seen my scars, show me one of yours," Malik said, and Amane felt a warmth pool in her stomach at the certainty in his voice. So, he wanted to see. Might as well show him.

"Oh, the choices you have!" She grinned, pulling her snowy hair back tightly and securing it with a rubber band which had circled her wrist. "Well, this one," She pointed to a long thin line, mostly obscured by hair, which ran a few inches parallel to her ear and down to the nape of her neck. "Is from the car wreck I was in as a kid. Brain surgery to correct a bleed." She rolled up the sleeve of her left arm. "And this one..." She pointed to a short line a few inches below the crux of her arm, "Was when I broke my arm when I was thirteen. I fell off a roof."

"Fell?"

"Well, I didn't jump on purpose," Amane said with a shrug. "My mate Sean and I were trying to look at shooting stars or something idiotic like that, but then the prat stumbled and I lost my balance because he grabbed at me, and I toppled off his roof and I landed on my arm... And this is what's left."

"Good one," Malik said, "Nice friend."

"Well, the rest of the story goes on to say that once the arse scrambled down onto the ground where I was writhing about in pain, I clocked him good and we got a joint ride in the ambulance to the hospital because his nose wouldn't stop bleeding."

Malik smiled at that. "That is kind of great, in a way."

"Yeah, we weren't allowed to see much of each other after that," Amane said with a smile. She crawled back outside of the tent-like fort being built, and draped another blanket from the bookshelf to the existing structure of the fort, giving the small space a higher ceiling and better lighting as she nudged a bendable lamp arm inside the cozy cave. Then she added a final blanket, half of which sat on top of the television, so that the screen was visible from inside the fort. She plopped herself back down inside. "So, how are you liking your first fort?"  
Malik gave a genuine smile, looking around in a child-like sense of awe. "It is really cool."

"Yeah, now we have our own secret club," She giggled, repeating a well used line from childhood. "This is starting to feel a little like a proper slumber party." She paused, eying her companion suspiciously. "I'll guess you never went to any of those either?"

"Guilty," Malik said, shrugging to cover his awkwardness about it.

"Your parents obviously were not prepared for children," She said, with a dismissive shake of the head. "Alright, truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"You certainly like picking truth," Amane commented.

"Would you prefer I picked dare?" Malik asked earnestly.

"No, this lets me get into your head," Amane smiled. _Real smile, not so hard. Relax. He's your friend now... You can play nice. _"Okay, so considering your obviously sheltered upbringing and the fact that you totally were being a slut to me yesterday, how old were you when you finally went ahead and jumped into bed with somebody?"  
Blushing, he was blushing again. She made him blush. Amane couldn't help but giggle, and he forced out a strangled, "Seventeen."

She nodded, as if to affirm that seventeen was as good a time as any.

"And you?" He inquired.

"Yesterday," She said, as serious as she could. Malik's tanned face went ghostly pale, and she cracked up. "Heavens, no, sorry..." She giggled for a moment longer. "I was fifteen."  
Malik shook his head, muttering something akin to "not funny" under his breath, but smiled at her none the less. "So, truth or dare?"

"Dare," Devilish grin back in place.

"Swap shirts with me." At her questioning glance, he smirked, "What? This one is awful. It scares children with its tackiness."

Amane giggled, and quickly stripped off her large black sweatshirt, followed by her basic black tee. Grabbing the tacky tourist garb from Malik, she dressed quickly, feeling suddenly almost _almost_ embarrassed.

"Wait," Malik said, "What's that?" He was pointing to her side. Specifically tattoo number five.

She grinned sheepishly. "It means 'insane.'"

"Why...?"

"Guess you don't know yet," Amane said, quietly. "You'll have to wait and see."

* * *

_I'd been sleeping... Thought it was a dream, a bad bad bad dream, a nightmare, but nothing to be scared of. But then I saw I was alone... Creeping quietly, I searched the tiny place for mother and sister, but I saw no one. Peering outside the door, I saw fire dancing before my eyes... And the screaming seemed to come out of nowhere. There was silence, and then screaming. A great wall of sound, and I ducked back behind the door's frame. Men in royal uniforms, wielding swords and looking absolutely terrifying with their stony faces and hidden eyes, dragged men, women, and children, all kicking and screaming and the mothers were begging for the lives of their children and the children were crying and screaming and being kicked and hurt and... I had to find my sister and mother.  
_

_Where had they gone?  
_

_Slowly, carefully sticking to the shadows, I crept out into the street, ducking at every sign of movement. I was hidden, I was safe...  
_

_And then...  
_

_A dark figure held a squirming child in his arms, too tight... Far too tight; she couldn't breathe! Let her breathe, she's little, can't you see how little she is? Oh gods... He's holding her too tight and she's screaming and crying and _her hair is like mine _and then suddenly she was limp in his too tight grip and I gasped and she was limp... she wasn't moving..._

_...Something wasn't right, I could tell the moment we walked into the house. Amane was babbling happily, excitedly finishing her story about her doll or her art class or something involving glitter, but I wasn't listening. Wasn't listening because it was awfully quiet in the house, but the radio was crackling which was strange because Mummy was in a dark mood when I got up this morning and she wouldn't get out of bed and told me to make sure Amane got to school on time. She never liked music when she was in those moods... She never liked anything, really, not even her camera which was always around her neck, always clicking when she was happy.  
_

_Amane ran off to her room, giggling about how she was going to get her Barbies because I'd promised I'd play with her since Mummy was in a dark dark mood. Mummy was all sad and angry, so I would have to play with Amane and call Gran before dinner time because 'Mane was getting sick of having cereal for breakfast and dinner, but I wasn't allowed to use the stove (not that I could cook anything anyways). Mummy would be angry when she found out I'd called Gran and they'd fight but it was better... it would be better afterward because then Mum would have to get out of bed and be happy because otherwise Gran would threaten to call the doctors again.  
_

_Maybe I ought to try and get her up once more before I called Gran, just to be sure, just to be safe. I mean, the radio was on... maybe she'd gotten up while we were at school and she was fine... Maybe..._

_...They had her,and my mother too, she was struggling against them...and she was screaming my sister's name, begging begging begging as she was burned before our eyes and she was calling out to every god I'd ever heard of ...Motionless, I was paralyzed, watching as my mother watched my sister be murdered, slaughtered before the glare of a large ceremonial cauldron. She was limp and bleeding...and I watched Mother sag... and my sister was dead dead dead and my mother was crying and my legs propelled me forward I was furious I saw red everything was red red red and those men killed my sister... They'd killed her, she was a baby a baby and now she was dead and I was going to _kill them_! I_ had to _kill those men because he needed to die for this because it was _evil _and how did this happen she was a baby _just a baby _and then I was running through flames and it burned it burned my arms and my legs and it hurt hurt hurt and I was screaming, adding to the screams of all of Kul Elna as it burned around me... and it hurt and I didn't care, I didn't care! She was dead and they... they were going after my mother, but she couldn't move she was crying and she was dead the baby gone gone gone and dead and I smelled smoke, she was burning my mother was burning and fire was surrounding me and it hurt hurt and she screamed such a scream and my cheeks were slick with tears and I couldn't get to her... There was smoke and it filled my lungs I couldn't breathe..._

_... I walked into Mum's bedroom. The lights were still off, and the room was full of shadows from the late afternoon sun filtering through the thick curtains, half closed. Weak sunlight, from the gray dark day outside. "Mum?" I called, because when I walked in she wasn't in her bed, where I'd left her. The radio got louder, static muffling the cheery tune, and I jumped at the sudden increase in volume. Out of habit, my hand traveled to the place where I could feel my Ring pressed against my chest, hidden underneath my uniform shirt. I touched it, feeling the warmed metal against my chest and my heart slowed back down. Mum hated it, hated that Ring, so I hid it from her, but something about it wouldn't let me take it off. Shouldn't take it off. Needed it, especially when Mum was in one of her dark sad blue days and nobody but Amane was around it was almost like I wasn't so alone, but I couldn't think about that because Mum was missing and I had to find her because it was getting scary not seeing her in her room where I'd left her (where she was meant to stay).  
_

_Taking a deep breath, I tried to call for my Mum a second time. No answer still.  
_

_Annoyed, I decided she must have gone out without saying anything (which she did from time to time, absentminded Gran called her, always so absentminded), and went to turn off the radio, which Mummy kept in the bathroom because she liked to listen to it during her baths, and sometimes when she was happy she'd sing along which Amane always liked. Focused on the radio to the side of the sink, and walking quickly because Amane was calling my name from the other room and saying if I didn't hurry I wouldn't even get to be Ken, I didn't know what I'd slipped on until I hit the ground hard and I was lying face down in the blood._

_...Something hit me.  
_

_Something hard and solid, and it smelled like sweat and mean and I kicked and fought but I couldn't breathe and then...  
_

_It dropped me...Knocked me down, crushing my chest... Couldn't breathe, couldn't breathe there was smoke and a huge boulder on my chest and I could feel something inside my cracking, splintering, breaking into thousands of pieces and the man was staring at me but I clawed his leg to escape had to run run run...  
_

_But it was hard, and my feet were sluggish and... and...Everything swirled, it hurt hurt hurt too much she was dead they were dead and my head snapped back against something hard and cold and I tried to run and it hurt and everything hurt...But I ran, and there was blood in my eyes and my nose and mouth and it hurt and where was I? Why was I here? What was that screaming, that horrid noise in my ears behind my eyes, coming from my mouth? Screaming, so much screaming... Why...?_

_...I scrambled to my feet, revolted that my uniform was utterly soaked in sticky, thick red liquid and I followed the trail of the blood with my eyes, from where I'd slipped to the bathtub where a pale hand was drooping lifeless over the side. Slowly, my heart thumping so hard against my ribcage that the sound of the radio was drown out completely and I walked gingerly to the bathtub, barely breathing, not wanting see what I was sure to see and I could only hear my heart it was beating so hard I swore I felt it move the heavy jewelry around my neck simply by beating.  
_

_I closed my eyes, covered them with my hands even though I knew it would make a bigger mess of me. I didn't want to see, didn't want to believe, didn't want to know... I would turn around and play dolls with Amane and Gran would come over and Mum would get out of bed and we'd be fine, we'd all be...fine. There wouldn't be blood soaking into the gray material of my trousers, smearing across my face which was feeling suspiciously wet behind my hands... And we were fine, this was... A dream. A nightmare. We would be fine, everything was alright I just had to look... Had to see...  
_

_I forced my eyes open..._

_...And it was dark.  
_

_I couldn't see...  
_

_And in my ears I could hear my mother...my neighbors... my village screaming, screaming for revenge. Revenge for what had happened to them, and that I needed to get it because I had survived... How had I survived? Why me, why should have to avenge them...? But my head spun and how had I gotten here? Where was here, anyways? And something dark, something terrible and dark was looming over me and speaking to me and whispering in words I could hardly understand that It would help me, It would be there to make sure I was fine, It would get me the revenge these ghosts screamed for... It just needed me to promise my service in return... My head spun, and I drifted in and out... and I nodded because what else could I do and It said it would help... that It had great powers... that all I'd have to do was find a way to the Pharaoh... But my head spun and it hurt hurt hurt and it was dark and I closed my eyes and I didn't want to see anymore...  
_  
..._Mummy was in the tub, eyes closed... Somewhere I vaguely recalled being disturbed because she was obviously naked, but most of her nakedness was obscured by the blood staining the water a cherry red and her long white hair flopped into the red tinted water and she wasn't moving, she wasn't moving... Her blood, from the wrist, thrown so carelessly over the side of the tub, had coated the floor and now my clothes and she wasn't moving, she wasn't breathing... Her eyes were closed and she was smiling, but she wasn't moving and there was blood...blood everywhere it was on my hands and clothes and face and the floor and the tub was stained red and she wasn't moving, not breathing, nothing but smiling serenely...  
"M-mum...?" I tried, too terrified to touch her porcelain skin; it looked icy and cold and it was covered in this bloody mess and I shaking and my breath became stuttering and quick and I was screaming, just screaming and the noise filled me ears and eyes and..._

_... I couldn't breathe, I wanted to die, this wasn't happening... they were dead..._

_...She was dead, and her blood, the blood, it was everywhere on me all over me and she wasn't breathing and I couldn't stop screaming and I was falling..._

_...Falling back into my myself, into my mind, where it was quiet and there was no more screaming just a reassuring darkness that filled up everything and told me to rest..._

_...And I closed my eyes, wrapped in this darkness and it was over it was over all over I gave up, I give in... Oh God...She's dead... She's dead she's dead she'sdeadshe'sdead..._

_Over, it was over, all over just the dark and I could rest and the dark would take over ... and I won't have to think. Don't want to, can't bare it... Hurt, pain just pain...Dead. Death. Seen death, I'd seen it and it was terrible and it was bloody and I was screaming, can't stop screaming and it hurts and it's terrible and why why why is there blood on my hands? Why? Can't think can't feel it hurts just hurts... Dead...gone... Alone... Why?_

_Slipping back, back into my mind, back into the darkness, can't think. Can't see can't hear the screams._

_Won't have to feel anymore._

In an unlikely moment, two white haired men jerked awake in that instant. Awoken by distant screams that they would never admit were their own, they were left with the same puzzling thought in that moment of haziness between sleep and waking. _Who was the other...? _

And then the jerk back to reality.

Of course.

Who else could it be, after all?

* * *

Ryou was staring at the screen of his phone, lighting the pitch black room with its muted white light and casting long shadows on the walls. He closed his eyes. Absently he felt his fingers dialing, and there was a new sense of desperation because his heart was racing all too fast and he just needed... needed...

_The person you calling is not available at this time. Please leave a message after the tone._

But then the voicemail picked up, dispelling his thought of desperation, and he flipped the phone closed, pulling his knees to his chest as he did so. Ryou was disgusted that in his moment of weakness he had reached out in the one place he dared not to (and somehow... _hurt_ because he hadn't gotten an answer).

He could hear a loud knocking but could not place the sound.

Ryou couldn't decide at first whether it was his heart pounding or if there was actually someone pounding on the door. Disoriented from the nightmarish images still flickering through his mind (_God, he could _feel _the blood on his hands)_ it took at least a full minute of staring distantly into the darkness of his tiny room before he was able to interpret the noise. The door, it was the damn door at... he glanced toward the alarm clock on his desk, at midnight? Rubbing his eyes, Ryou slowly, gingerly climbed out of his bed wracking his brain for the reason he'd been asleep so long before midnight. Atypical behavior for him, not to mention he found his adrenaline rushing at the realization that he couldn't remember everything with acute details. Meanwhile the pounding at the door continued, which wasn't doing a whole lot for his nerves at the moment. Passing through the small living room (and finding that his sister was absent... he made a mental note to call her or text her or something once he answered the damn door), Ryou flicked a few light switches. The bursts of light seemed to bring the tiny space to life, dispelling all of the shadows and the possibilities to terrify him that they had held.

Ryou had to blink a few times when he discovered that the source of the pounding door was in fact Yuugi, who continued knocking for a few seconds after Ryou pulled the door open.

"Yuugi?"

"Oh thank God..." Yuugi's face broke out into a lopsided grin, a little too wide for the present scenario of what had likely been a lengthy process of knocking at the door, and he stepped rather ungracefully inside. "I'm really glad you are home."

"Yeah... me too," Ryou remarked absently, his thoughts still lingering far from his front door. "What's up?" Once his mind caught up, Ryou was frankly perplexed by the arrival of his friend alone, seeing as Yuugi rarely went anywhere without Atemu shadowing him. The exception was of course whenever Atemu and Anzu decided they needed sometime alone, but Yuugi was typically capable of occupying himself during those brief interludes... though many of these did end in rather tragically pathetic marathon phone calls to various friends because Yuugi had gotten himself drunk and was feeling particularly down on himself. Ryou frowned as the smaller boy walked unsteadily toward the living room and flopped down onto the couch. "Yuugi?"

"I want to know something," Yuugi said, though his tongue seemed to slip a little over the 's' in 'something.'

"Alright, go ahead," Ryou said, hesitating over the threshold of the kitchen. "Did you want anything? Tea, coffee?" He gestured over his shoulder with his thumb pointing back toward the small kitchen.

"Noo-" Yuugi practically sang, drawing out the 'o.' "Just, just," He scrambled to his feet and followed Ryou into the kitchen where the white haired boy rescued an abandoned bottle of water from the depths of his refrigerator. "Just, tell me something."

"Okay."

"Tell me... Bakura."

Ryou simply blinked. For the most part his friends had maintained their silence on the issue of the Thief, preferring that the villain in their adventures be kept at a distance even now (Ryou couldn't say he was complaining). So it was strange to hear the name be brought up, especially now that it had been years since any of his friends had bothered to call him by his surname, because though he hated to admit it but the name made it clear it was the Thief being mentioned. "What about him?" God he hated how that edge crept into his voice. One word, one name, _his own name_ and he was suddenly angry... especially in the wake of his earlier moment of foolishness.

Yuugi stared vacantly at Ryou, who lead him back to the couch slowly. "What about him?" He repeated.

"He gave me tissues," Yuugi mumbled, holding up what was indeed a worn packet of kleenex in his hand. "Why do you hate him?"

_Subtle. _Ryou rubbed his eyes, choosing to sidestep the question. "You've been drinking." Not a question, not at all. And Ryou wasn't all together thrilled to see the other boy gurgling his intoxicated ramblings while seated on his couch.

"And you've been sleeping." This was followed by an unnecessary little giggle, as if the sight of Ryou in his pajamas was the height of comedy. "See though, he gave me tissues..."

"Here," Ryou handed Yuugi the water bottle. "Drink that." The white haired boy stood, walking toward the kitchen with the intention of making coffee to perhaps help him deal with watching Yuugi until he sobered up.

"He's going to New York with her..."

Ryou stopped dead in his tracks. This "he" wasn't the Thief anymore, that much was obvious. "When did that get decided?"

"Oh, toniiiiiiight," Yuugi trilled, though the bright tone didn't match the look he wore. "Great. Really, I'm just... I'm... _glad _he's going with Anzu. They can j-" He hiccuped here, "Just go and be happy together for all I care..." He stared, looking rather dejected down at his shoes (though the effect was mostly ruined because he also appeared to be swaying in time with some unheard music or an invisible ocean current). "I hate him."

"No, you don't."

"You hate Bakura."

"Yes..."

"Nobody judges you for that... Everybody thinks that's great because he shouldn't be around you... but mostly we just want to..not...our wallets." He paused, shaking his head, having apparently lost his train of thought and come back further down the line. "Why then... why not...?" He frowned, as if he'd come to a realization. "I can hate Atemu if I want."  
Ryou sighed. "But you don't hate him, so quit saying it."

"I do. I hate him."

"No, you're just hurt." Ryou sat back down beside Yuugi, patting his shoulder as he sat. "You can feel hurt. But don't say you hate him when you know you don't. That's just mean."

"Why, he's not here...?"

Ryou raised an eyebrow and Yuugi shrugged, staring off for a long moment as the minutes ticked by.

"He stole her..." Yuugi moaned finally, his head in his hands. He seemed to just collapse in on himself, and though he couldn't be sure, Ryou figured that his intoxicated companion was likely crying. "Never even gave me a chance... and now they're... It isn't fair."

Ryou pressed his lips together for a moment, carefully considering his words. He knew, logically, that reasoning with Yuugi while the smaller boy was drunk was not a wise plan of action. He knew this instinctively, but his words slipped right past his logic and he spoke aloud an honestly stupid thought in response to the situation. "Have you tried _talking_ to him? About how you feel about this?"

"No," Yuugi scoffed, pushing Ryou's hand away. "No. I don't want... He doesn't even care. I haven't talked to _mou hitori no boku_, no because... I haven't."

_Drunk logic, ladies and gentlemen. _

"Well, maybe you should," Ryou suggested gently, knowing he was treading on dangerous ground.

"And maybe you can take your own advice," Yuugi spat, the words clear and harsh despite the alcohol on his breath. "Ever thought of maybe just _talking _to Bakura?"

Ryou frowned, "The situations are rather different, Yuugi."

"Like hell they are," He snorted. "Two yamis, two hikaris, and both the lights get the short end of the stick. Just took me... longer to see it..."

"Yuugi, you can't compare our situations. Put plainly, they aren't even remotely comparable," Ryou ground out, frustration growing. "You made a great friend in Atemu."

"No, I didn't," Yuugi whined. "I made a lying, backstabbing, _jerk_ of a friend."

Ryou rubbed his eyes, unsure exactly where Yuugi got off comparing Atemu to the Thief. Their relationships with their yamis were so dissimilar. Yuugi had gotten a friend -a great friend, in fact, whose only fault was typically assuming that he knew best. Ryou on the other hand... he'd lost countless friends because of the Thief. He'd lost friends, destroyed his relationship with his father (not that it had been much to begin with it), and just been genuinely hurt repeatedly by Bakura. Yuugi's comparison was... unfair. Insensitive. _Wrong._

"Yuugi," Ryou said quietly, unable to hold the words back, "You've never even told Atemu or Anzu about how you feel. You can't just expect them to know!"

"That's not fair." The words were a whimper now, and Yuugi's eyes shone with more unshed tears. "You're just... being awful."

"How am I being awful?" Ryou knew he should just stop, drop the subject, move on. Yuugi was drunk and upset, and arguing with him only fueled this. Only made it worse. But he was irritated and Yuugi was allying his horrifying adolescence sharing a mind with a psychopath with the person who'd become Yuugi's closest friend. "You're the person comparing someone who _ruined my life _to the guy to stole away your crush. You're being... Insensitive and, frankly, pretty damn selfish. So tell me, what have I done that is so awful?" Ryou demanded, "Because all I did was tel you the truth."

Yuugi stood, unsteady as before, and began to walk toward the door. "You know, I... ran into Bakura earlier. He...talked to me... a-and he gave me tissues... and you're..."

"What?" Ryou gasped, feeling a mixture of fear and the point where a person starts tearing their hair out. "What am I?

"Well, you're worse than you make him out to be."

Clear as a bell, punctuated by the click of the door closing.

He hesitated, but Ryou decided against chasing after Yuugi. If there was one thing the kid was good at, it was knowing when it was time to call a cab to take him home. Ryou collapsed back on the sofa, covering his eyes with his arm. He chose to call Atemu first, leaving a hurried voicemail asking him to please let him know that Yuugi got home alright whenever he got home. He texted Amane next, and the reply told him that she was with Malik. (Another dramatic situation which would simply have to wait until morning...)

And all the while, even though he was just sitting on his couch, Ryou could see flames dancing before his eyes and blood dripping thick and sticky from his fingers...

And he found himself wishing that his call hadn't gone to voicemail in his moment of stupidity, simply because he would have really liked someone to talk to.

* * *

Bakura wasn't sure what time it was, or just how long he'd been sitting in his dark bedroom. He could tell he was tired because his eyes had started to itch with fatigue, and he could tell that his little finger on his left hand was still throbbing painfully. But he didn't know what time it was or just how long he been sitting there. He knew he wasn't moving, or planning to move anytime soon because he knew that if he did his head would explode or he'd be sick or the world would end (funny, because he used to _want_ that one) so he couldn't move, wouldn't move, wasn't moving. Wasn't moving, wasn't seeing anything though his eyes were wide open (and he certainly wasn't going to take a look was what was going on on the inside of his eyelids). Just sitting, in the dark, feeling his finger throbbing and hoping that morning would come sooner rather than later so he could just move again without dying or destroying the world or some other entirely irrational thing that he couldn't convince himself was not the truth at this moment.

_I must be losing it._

He didn't act like this. Wasn't like this. Didn't go practically catatonic over the sight of a little blood.

Blood didn't bother him. Actually, he kind of _liked _blood. Nightmares didn't bother him, at least not this much.

But could still couldn't move... couldn't move or think properly or see anything because if he did everything everything everything would just fall apart and it would be even worse than it was and it couldn't be worse and why was he so freaked out it had just been some blood and dream and a memory just blood and dream and a memory and he was cowering in a dark corner because he couldn't move or then his head would explode or he'd make everything a million times worse.

First there had been the dream. It was a miracle Bakura slept at all anymore, what with all of the nightmares he had. This one had been different... This one wasn't just the horrors of his own past (no, that would be too _simple, _to easy to recover from) but also one of the most traumatic moments he'd experienced secondhand from Ryou. He remembered it vividly; it was after all one of the first times he was able to gain control of Ryou's body (however short lived that time was).

So, first there was the dream.

Then...

Bakura had just wanted something of a distraction, something thoughtless, something to do with his hands which had been shaking badly when he'd woken up.

He set about the task of sharpening one of his knives, because it was an uncomplicated process that he could do without having to think too much. Just simple. Draw blade over whetstone, repeat as needed. It was almost relaxing, though Hell would freeze over before Bakura would say that out loud. It gave him something to do with his hands in his hardly rare moments of boredom. Or on the nights like this one, where a distraction was all he could hope for.

Just a distraction, Bakura just didn't want to have keep seeing that puddle of blood, those flames growing larger, didn't want to keep hearing those screams, mixing together from across a few millennia.

He swiped the blade across the stone a few times.

Didn't want to have to keep wondering, keep worrying that somehow his... that somehow Ryou had seen those horrific moments from the past too. Because to Bakura, having Ryou see those things... He could understand seeing them himself.

He drew the blade across the stone a few more times, switching sides.

Bakura...he knew about them, he'd lived through both, he... Bakura wondered if perhaps he saw these things as some kind of cosmic punishment. That perhaps he'd have to relive these things for eternity. Bakura found he was somehow not all that offended by this idea of punishment.

_Swipe swipe._

He probably deserved worse. Much much worse.

But if Ryou was seeing them?

Switch sides. _Swipe swipe._

Somehow that thought infuriated him.

_Swipe._

Because he'd put Ryou through too much bullshit to have him dragged through the murky, bloodied waters that were Bakura's psyche. Didn't want the kid to have another reason to hate him.

_Swipe._

There was absolutely nothing fair about that at all.

Switch again. _Swipe.  
_

That was just cruel and it just proved that the world was completely, utterly, awful and that there wasn't one good thing left if Ryou was seeing...

_Swi- _

"Shit."

His fingers had slipped down dangerously close to the blade. Too close, it seemed.

Bakura felt blood dripping from his little finger on his left hand. He realized with an uncomfortable jolt that he must have cut his finger in his moment of carelessness, distracted by his own thoughts. The pain, sharp and biting, followed a moment after this realization.

"Shit," He repeated dully.

Angry at this completely idiotic slip up, Bakura stomped off toward his bathroom, hand elevated, hoping to clean himself up and forget the whole embarrassing ordeal. _Gods, the laugh Malik would have when he heard about this one. _

Bakura switched the light on in the bathroom, heading directly for the sink. Bakura reached for the tap as he took a glance at the damage he'd done to his left pinky finger.

There was a lot of blood, he noted. This realization made his insides squirm uncomfortably, and a cold sweat broke out across his forehead.

The blood had made a path down from his finger, dripping over his palm, and had landed across his wrist.

_Almost looked like he'd slashed it. _

He let out a nervous little laugh, though he wasn't sure why the thought had come to his mind Bakura obviously hadn't slashed his wrist no matter how the smeared blood made it look...

A chill seemed to creep from the base of his skull downward. He shivered.

Bakura swallowed hard, feeling slightly dizzy and he gripped the edge of the sink with his left hand and let out a hiss of pain... The blood had gotten all over there too... Stupid, he shouldn't have used that hand...

It was _a lot_ of blood. All over his hand and dripping down his arm. It was falling in fat, red droplets to the floor.

His head was spinning, and he put his injured hand to his forehead as if that would somehow steady him...

Blood dripped into his eyes...

And suddenly Bakura couldn't breathe.

He couldn't breathe, couldn't breathe, he was shaking...

_ It was just a little blood_...

Bakura found himself panicking and he couldn't breathe couldn't draw breath and he was shaking violently and there was so much blood why the hell was there so much blood why was it all over the floor and his hands and he couldn't breathe and he was fleeing the bathroom and gasping desperately, knees giving out...

..._My host had picked himself up out of the puddle of blood...  
_

So much fucking blood, it was everywhere, can't breathe can't breathe can't breathe.

_It was covering him, covering the floor, and my host's mother sat motionless, not moving, not breathing, _dead_, wrists and forearms slashed in the tub and then my little Landlord let out this scream. It was quite the sight; he was covered in the blood, and it had gotten everywhere. Soaked in blood, my host was screaming and screaming and suddenly I wasn't dormant anymore. I was pushed to the front of his mind. I was very much in control._

_ It was all rather strange. Very abrupt. Suddenly the limbs moved at my command. I tested, walked out of the room, could feel my little host still screaming though I'd already shut the mouth making the noise. I walked out into the bedroom I'd seen through my host's eyes many times. A little girl.. my tiny Landlord's even tinier sister, I thought, and she started crying at the sight of me. Or at least I'd assumed it was at the sight of me.  
_

_"Ryou, Ryou, what happened? Why are you all bloody?" Her big brown eyes spilled over and she yanked at the crimson dyed sleeve. "Where's Mummy? Where is she? Ryou?"  
I said nothing, staring at this tiny human in amazement. Didn't she see that her brother wasn't there? Didn't she notice? Was it possible that she didn't see?  
"MUMMY!" The small girl screeched, and she tried to run past me into the sight of the bloodbath beyond.  
_

_I reached out a pale arm, and it responded better than I could have dreamed. It gripped the wrist of the little girl, stopping her in her tracks despite the fight she put up. Against my better judgment, I opened my host's mouth and said, "You will not go in there. She's a mess. Don't try to go see her." There was too much blood, and I couldn't let that little girl walk into that room unwittingly like my host had done. She was just a child, after all. Though I didn't understand the impulse, I knew I needed her to stay out of that room. She didn't need to see that amount of blood...  
_  
Bakura was dizzy and he couldn't breathe and for a sudden moment it struck him that he was fairly certain that dying had felt something like this though he'd never managed to stay dead for very long he was sure it was something like this. He couldn't breathe and there was blood just everywhere and couldn't breathe or think and it hurt and if he didn't move... If he stopped, if he was perfectly still, everything would stop. It would all end and everything would be over and it wouldn't be so terrible and he just had to be still. Just had to stop moving. Just had to stop.

Bakura wasn't sure how long he'd been there or what time it was. He knew his little finger hurt, he knew his clothes were dotted with his own blood, knew that it was late and it was dark and that he couldn't move or everything...everything... would just fall apart. So he couldn't move, even if he didn't know what time it was. Couldn't move until the sun rose, because right now everything just needed to stop and it would it he just stayed still.

* * *

"I-it i-is freezing out h-here," Malik complained, teeth chattering. He eyed his snowy haired companion (fitting, because her hair was snowy in color, and it was literally covered in snow), and watched as his words seemed to make her eyes light up. The snow, having initially seemed like a temporary nuisance, had now coated the Domino Metropolitan Area with a thick, icy blanket. Though their game of truth or dare had dwindled after a few hours to sporadic turns in between long conversations, the last dare had been issued when Malik mentioned that he had never made a snow angel before. At that point, Amane made it her personal mission to correct this, as she considered it "a crime against childhood." So now they stood outdoors, Malik shivering and Amane giggling like a small child hyped up on sugar, searching for a place that was coated well enough with snow that the grass below wouldn't ruin any angels made.

"It's not so bad," Amane said with a shrug. Malik couldn't help gaping open mouthed at her dismissive attitude. It was damn cold out there, and she was acting like... like she wasn't surprised by the sudden cold. Like it was nothing. Malik felt his face heat up, and hoped desperately that she wouldn't notice. _Of course_ she wasn't surprised by the cold. She hadn't grown up in a desert. Snow wasn't something she got overly excited about. Snow was just... common. Annoying. Normal.

"Over there! Looks perfect!"

Amane grabbed his hand, dragging him easily to the place where she'd pointed. They stood quietly for a moment, staring out at the undisturbed snowy area, their breath mingling in visible puffs. It was... _pretty_, Malik found himself thinking. Amane turned so that she was facing him, her dark eyes unreadable, and he was very aware of his breathing and he wondered, as she inched closer, just what she was going to do.

And then he was staring up at the cloudy night sky, sprawled on the frozen ground, the shadow of a skinny British girl falling over him. Amane laughed.

"You could have warned me," Malik grumbled up at Amane, who wore a very impish grin as she flopped down a few feet away from him.

"It was more fun this way," Amane quipped. "Alright now, snow angels are pretty easy. Move your arms up and down, like they're wings you're flapping. That'll be the wings. And you should also move your legs away from the center and back. That'll make the bottom robe bit. The tricky part is standing up without ruining it. You can't step on the wings. Got it?"

"Got it."

Malik felt slightly ridiculous, flapping his arms and legs in the snow. It moved slowly, and it was really cold (especially when his jacket rode up and he managed to get the snow up his back). But when he stood up (carefully, as instructed) he saw that the result did look a lot like an angel. Amane got up too, and both of them looked on at their snow angels in silence for a minute. Snow was still drifting lazily to the ground.

"Shall we make more?" Amane asked after a few moments.

Malik shrugged, flicking his hair out of his eyes. He wondered idly if Amane was planning to leave after their little snowy excursion was finished, and realized with a jolt that he really wished she would stay. Amane was like...a huge floating question mark. He just wanted to know more about her, but he had no idea why. She was dragging him along by the hand again, off to another untouched swatch of snowy ground to decorate with angels. They observed again, carefully planning out where best to strike, when a mischievous grin appeared on Malik's face. He turned to Amane, looking down at her with a smile. "What?" she said, brow furrowed in confusion.

Malik gave her a push to the ground, watching her land spread eagle in the snow. She looked up at him, mouth open and eyes wide. He laughed. "More fun this way," He answered her look before falling down beside her. They lay there in the snow long after their angels were finished, watching the clouds rolling above them and catching snowflakes in their eyelashes. "Hey," Malik said, breaking the momentary silence. His curiosity was getting the better of him. "Truth or dare?"

"Truth," Amane answered, turning her head to look at him.

"What makes you think that you're the crazy one here?"

Amane turned her head back. "I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder when I was seventeen. I have periodically decided I'd rather self medicate than be on pills. Oh, and I spent the three months of the last year in a 'residential treatment facility' because I was considered a danger to myself and others." She blew out a long breath. "I'm... not especially normal."

"Yeah," Malik breathed, eyes wide. He was honestly a little surprised (not that he couldn't say similar things about himself). "Me either."

"What's your dirty secret?"

"Well..."

**Thank you for reading. Please review!**


	10. Chapter 10

**So... almost three years is totally worth the wait for a filler chapter, right?**

**I'm really sorry, everyone. I didn't intend to abandon this story. It just happens sometimes. Regardless, I have the ending written (and have had the ending written for more than 2 years), so now it is just a matter of getting there. Thank you to everyone who follows this story. I sincerely hope that you like this chapter.**

**Chapter 10 Playlist**

1. No Sunlight -Death Cab for Cutie

2. Closer -Tegan and Sara

3. Nails for Breakfast, Tacks for Snacks -Panic! at the Disco

4. Rat a Tat -Fall Out Boy

5. Shankill Butchers -The Decemberists

6. Part II -Paramore

7. Eet- Regina Spektor

8. Of Angels and Angles - The Decemberists

9. At Least We Tried -Gold Motel

10. Voice Mail #5-RENT

Sunlight was peeking in through the blinds, though it seemed like it was doing so rather reluctantly. Regardless of how sheepishly the grayish light crept in, it stung Bakura's eyes nonetheless. Blinking, he glanced at the digital alarm clock sitting across the room on his nightstand. _7:01. _He blinked in surprise. Morning had come much more quickly than he had expected. His eyes itched and burned, and Bakura found himself wondering whether he had dozed off during the night (His aching neck believed the answer was yes). Gingerly, he unfolded his arms and legs and slowly rose to his feet, pulling a face as his muscles protested the movements. Bakura's head spun when he stood, so much so that he nearly lost his balance. Frowning, he leaned back against the wall, and he rubbed his eyes, wondering just what the hell he'd been doing sitting in a dark corner all night. His mind seemed to have been wiped clean of the previous night's events, something he found irksome. _What the hell was I doing? _Once he felt his balance had been restored, Bakura glanced back at the clock. _7:06. _He had two hours before he needed to be to work, but he decided that a shower would be the best option to wash away the sluggishness from his mind.

Dizzily, Bakura made his way to the bathroom, brows knitting together in confusion at the sight of the drops of blood which had dried on the floor and sink in the small room. Blood drops dotted his pant leg too, pooling in an awfully large stain close to the knee. He frowned to himself, realizing that he would now have to replace his only decent pair of jeans, but then Bakura shook his head violently (which only caused his dizziness to grow worse). _That _was a stupid thought. He wracked his brain, idly wondering if he'd decided to maim someone in his sleep. That would be a chance of pace compared to the last year or so..

Then Bakura caught sight of himself in the mirror.

At first he wasn't even sure that it was his reflection he was staring at. Stupidly, he turned to look over his shoulder as if he would find another ghostly pale figure standing there, taking up space in his bathroom mirror. But as he turned his gaze back to the reflective surface, Bakura realized it was his own reflection at which he was gaping, open mouthed. Inching toward the glass, he inspected the suddenly unfamiliar person at whom he stared. Wide, almost frightened looking henna colored eyes stood out against bruise like circles surrounding them. His face was smeared with thick streaks of blood, like some primitive war paint dashed across his forehead and the left side of his face. He glanced down at his hands, and found the left one covered in dried blood from his fingers all down his forearm. His pinky finger appeared to have been the source of the blood, and upon further inspection it looked like he had sliced off a large part of his finger tip. It was only then that he felt the dull pounding in his injured digit, only then that he recalled the insanity of his idiotic slip up; it was then that he remembered.

_Fuck._

Deeming these events highly embarrassing, Bakura decided to clean himself up and forget the whole ordeal. It was _stupid_, he thought, swaying dizzily and having to steady himself against the bathroom wall. His hands were damp with sweat, and the one supporting him slid against the wall. His arm folded weakly, and his balance disappeared. Bakura cracked his head against the bathroom counter. Lights popped in front of his eyes and pain blossomed red and angry near his temple before everything sort of faded to gray.

When he opened his eyes again, he had a spectacular headache, blood in his eyes, and an intense determination to never ever think about this again. He felt dizzy and nauseated. He felt stupid.

He turned the knobs in the shower. He undressed as quickly as he could manage without knocking himself over, mind fixated entirely on the task (as if removing his bloodstained clothes was the key to erasing the stupidity and insanity of the whole event). _It isn't worth thinking about._ He repeated this thought to himself as he climbed into the shower, flinching when he realized that he hadn't given the water from his temperamental shower ample time to warm up.

_Fucking fucker..._

Bakura got to work scrubbing the dried blood off of his arm and hand, gingerly avoiding his finger and vehemently denying to himself that his stomach turned uncomfortably at the red stained water cascading from his arm. He still felt exceptionally dizzy, having to brace himself against the slick wall of his shower several times while attempting to scrub the dried blood out of his hair. He felt sick. And incredibly stupid.

He just _wouldn't _think about it, Bakura resolved, arming himself with a slippery bar of soap as he washed.

Viciously he attacked the small dots of blood that had dried to the flesh of his leg.

_It never happened._

He repeated this mantra as he dizzily stepped out of the shower. And as he swallowed the feelings of mortification that came alongside bandaging the little finger on his left hand and dabbing the cut on his forehead with a ball of tissue. And then he quickly got to work erasing the evidence of his idiocy, scrubbing desperately at the blood stains on his carpeting until they faded. And again as he moved unsteadily through his typical morning routine, feeling largely ashamed that he suddenly missed the usual monotony that normally accompanied his mornings. At least those mornings typically did not feature an internal mantra of _Do not throw up, don't you dare throw up..._

_Fuck._

* * *

_Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz..._

Amane slowly opened her eyes, wincing because it felt like her eyelashes were glued together. _Fuck_... She peeled her eyelids apart a second time, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she did so.

_Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz..._

Reaching under the pile of pillows she had slept on, Amane extracted her mobile phone. Her brown eyes widened at the number flashing across the screen. With a frown, Amane sent the call to her voicemail and sat up. Sitting seemed to take a hell of a lot of energy, and half of her simply wanted to collapse back onto her makeshift bed to sleep for a decade or two. She wistfully recalled having been in a coma all those years ago. _Could certainly use one about now..._ Amane found herself thinking, her arms dropping heavily to her sides and her head drooping like it weighed a ton.

She decided to forget getting up, at least for right now, and she lay down again, feeling incredibly exhausted. Amane stared blankly up at the ceiling, yawning.

_The pillow fort survived the night_, she noted with a small smile that seemed forced even to herself. It was still awfully dark in the room, though the bluish glow from the television lit the inside of fort. Raising her head every so slightly, Amane could see the blue light from the television glowing blue on the wall. They had switched it on when the living room had seemed too dark in the middle of the night. Her brow furrowed in confusion, suddenly realizing that waking up inside a fort Malik's meant she had spent the night at Malik's...

_Oh..._

Nervously, Amane glanced off to her side. There lay a cocoon of blankets with a tuft of untidy blond hair sticking out of the top, snoring quietly. Her mind seemed to overload with panicked thoughts of fleeing the scene before Malik woke up and wondered why she was still there, but then Malik made a few sleepy noises, mumbling words in a language Amane didn't understand, and his arm reached out to curl around her. Amane's body didn't have the energy for her frenzied thoughts. So she took a deep breath, trying to relax into the sleepy embrace. The warm weight felt nice. She closed her eyes again scooting closer to Malik and his warm blanket cocoon.

But it was useless. Her mind couldn't slow down, even as her body demanded it.

Slowly, she retrieved her phone again and checked the time.

_7:27._

Frowning at how early it was, Amane slowly rose to her knees. She crawled out of the fort at a turtle's pace, shivering as she left the warmth of the enclosed space. Glancing down at herself, she saw that she was still wearing Malik's dorktastic tourist garb, _EGYPT _proudly displayed across her chest. Amane debated leaving the thing on his kitchen counter, but in the end decided that, if nothing else, it would give her an excuse to call him again in the future.

Amane shook her head at that thought. Perhaps that was just a little bit too normal for her bizarre life, but she smiled ever so slightly at the thought. Walking slowly toward the small kitchen off the living room, Amane scribbled a note on a scrap of paper towel and stuck it to the fridge with a magnet. _Thanks for the advice. Call me if you like. -Amane_

Staring at it for a moment, Amane nodded to herself, then added a cartoony heart beside her name. She grabbed her jacket and walked out the door.

As Amane trudged down the street in the dim light of an early, cloudy morning, she thought back to her conversation with Malik from the night before. The snow hadn't made it until morning. She realized, mildly mortified, that she had told Malik about her time in treatment. Her big, dark secret, and she just.. told him. Like ti was nothing. She told Malik, who was basically still a stranger. And she just... went ahead and spilled her guts.

Well, there was the evidence of her impulse control problem.

Malik took it rather well, in retrospect.

Though, that _might _have been a lot to do with what he told _her..._

_"I'm... not especially normal."_

_"Yeah," Malik breathed. "Me either."_

_"What's your dirty secret?"_

_"Well..."Amane watched Malik fidget, moving his hair behind his ear and tugging his jacket back into place. He sat up, looking over at her, an unreadable expression in his lavender eyes. "It's kind of a long story."_

_Amane sat up as well, the cold seeming to be soaking into her bones. She shivered, eyes still trained on Malik's every move. His posture had changed, like he was attempting to shrink himself somehow. Become smaller. She imagined fitting him into her pocket and carrying him around._

_The conversation that followed was stunted, quiet. Malik clumsily related a few tidbits about his upbringing, mumbling through a narrative of isolation and abuse._

_"Quite the breeding ground for craziness, if you ask me," He murmured at one point, face turned away from her as he described the dark tomb that had served as his childhood home. "In fact, my siblings turned out almost normal compared to... Well, compared to me."_

"_Normalcy is a social construct."_

"_You only say that because you're abnormal too."_

_Amane recalled that her body seemed to act without her permission, reaching out and taking his hand. She settled close at his side, still sitting in the infant snowfall, and watched flakes collecting in his eyelashes while silently encouraging him to go on. It was quite the odd affair, she realized, holding hands with someone she'd known for approximately two days while he spilled his secrets to her and their snow angels. But he seemed to relax, perhaps because he knew her secret too (or at least most of it). They were trading scars. It was almost... nice._

_Malik whispered the horrors of his psyche; how torture and loneliness had brought out such desperation that his mind had created Mariku. A monster. An evil twist on Malik's own desires to escape, Mariku's presence had led to the death of his father._

_He went quiet then. Amane wondered, marveling at the sight of her pale hand in his tan one, if he expected her to turn coward. Shout "murderer" and dash off into the night. Obviously, she did no such thing. Instead, she squeezed his hand. And he told the rest. The misguided revenge plot at Battle City. Her lips quirked into a smile as he mentioned his awkward partnership with Bakura and all it's failings; they turned into a frown when he murmured in a small voice how he had been the reason her brother had to be hospitalized on several accounts throughout the tournament. He gripped her hand tightly then, lavender eyes pleading for something she couldn't understand._

_In the end, he revealed that Atemu and Yuugi managed to help destroy Mariku... and that despite his best efforts not to, he fulfilled the destiny he and his family had suffered so greatly to fulfill..._

_Amane stood up. She turned and offered him a hand up. He grasped it and she pulled him to his feet. She kept a hold of his hand, a sort of childish Kindergarten way that this was a safe place, that he was okay here. Okay with her._

_They walked a while, despite the cold, skipping the turn back to his apartment in favor or slick pavements and each other. "The thing I like about the cold is that none of that shit is here when it is around. Winter... it feels like a new start. Maybe because I think that I can freeze away all of the crazy, because because it all happened somewhere where snow was an abstract concept rather than a thing. I dunno... for me, winter is like a blank page in a notebook. A new chapter or something cliche and tired."_

"_It's the cliches that cause all the trouble," Amane said wisely. Malik quirked an eyebrow. "I read it somewhere, I think."_

"_I'm not sure I agree," He said after a moment. "Aren't cliches based, at least a little, on reality?"_

_Amane shrugged. "I think I'd rather have oblivion than reality."_

"_You're either philosopher or a junkie, but I'm not sure which."_

"_Do you think we get second chances, then?" She asked, changing the subject._

_Malik looked at her sharply. "What the hell do you think this is for me if it's not a second chance?"_

_Amane nodded, pondering the possibilities in starting over. "I just wish I'd known when I was blowing my first shot."_

"_I'm not sure that's how it works."_

_Amane stopped under a streetlamp. Malik kept walking, dropping her hand. He stopped at the edge of the circle of light and looked back when she didn't move to catch up. "I'm going to say something weird."_

"_Okay."_

_She approached him slowly. "Don't panic..." She took each of his hands in her own. All four hands were freezing. Her head seemed to spin. She nearly lost her footing. "...May I kiss you?"_

_Malik stared back at her, eyes wide. Perhaps he, like her, didn't normally seal a moment of emotional honesty with a kiss. Maybe he wasn't interested in anything of that kind. They'd slept together, but that was... artificial intimacy. It was pretending. This wasn't. It was real, very real. But she wanted him closer.._

"_Yes."_

_So Amane kissed him. _

_And Malik kissed her back._

_They partly slowly, and she felt suddenly too shy to meet his eyes. "I'm freezing," she said to the space above his ear. _

"_Let's go inside." He took her hand, and she let herself be led. Their pillow fort was standing still. "Do you... would you want to stay?"_

"_I'd love to."_

Amane was knocked out of her musings, quite literally, by a dark haired man who was hurrying off, his head turning to look anxiously over his shoulder. She fell to the ground, the man having ruined her balance, and caught herself on the cold pavement with her ungloved hands."Watch it," She grumbled, picking herself up off the frosty sidewalk as she shot a dark look back at rushed man. Attempting to return to her train of thought, Amane continued walking onward, shaking her head in disgust as she stared at her scraped, burning palms. Just as her thoughts were about to dive into a monologue on how she was better off playing in oncoming traffic than continuing to bother with what was certainly going to be an awful day, Amane heard a voice.

"'Scuse me..." Slurred a boy not much younger than her, with long, dark hair. He was limping towards her, and as he came closer Amane noticed a trickle of blood dripping from his hairline. He held his arm at a strange angle and had several bruises forming on what she could see of his face. "C-could you h..." He seemed to lose his words mid sentence, staring openly at her.

"Are you alright?" Amane heard herself ask, inching closer to the boy who was swaying dangerously on his feet.

"No," He mumbled, shaking his head. "Car... Where's the car...?"

"I'm not sure," Amane said slowly. "Why don't you sit, and I will call somebody for you. Okay?" He nodded, and Amane lead him to nearby bench and sat him down. "Alright, what's your name? Do you know your name?"

"Yes..." He shrugged listlessly, eyes looking rather glassy and unfocused. "Mokuba."

"Okay, Mokuba," Amane nodded encouragingly, "I'm going to need your wallet, alright? I will give it right back, but I need it to call for help for you?"

He fumbled clumsily through his jacket pocket (Amane noted that his clothes, while disheveled, appeared to be designer), and after a moment Mokuba produced a small leather wallet. His outstretched hand shook, and she could see that his wrist looked swollen.

"Thank you." Taking the wallet from its owner, Amane pulled out the identification card in the front slot. As she read, she used her mobile to dial the emergency code.

The tinny voice crackled over the sounds of traffic whizzing by, asking what her emergency was.

"Hi, I've got a kid here who looks pretty beat up. I think he might have a concussion, actually...He's sort of green looking..." She tried to smile at the boy reassuringly (though she was positive she failed terribly) while the operator asked her location, which she promptly gave. "Kaiba; Mokuba Kaiba. Yes, that's what his ID says. Uh, sixteen. Maybe seventeen? Look, I don't actually _know_ the kid...and I'm rubbish with numbers. No, he seems pretty disoriented. And he was limping. Yes, he's conscious. Yes, I'll stay with him until an ambulance arrives. Thank you." Amane flipped her mobile closed, and smiled cautiously at Mokuba. "Help is on the way."

He nodded mutely, hands gripping the seat of the bench. His skin had taken on a greenish tint, and he barely managed to slur, "I don't feel well." before he vomited directly in front of him. Eyes wide in horror, Amane managed to pull her trainers out of the projectile's path.

"Shit," Amane breathed, eyes wide in horror. She covered her mouth and nose with her hand, feeling her own stomach churn at the sight. "Are you alright?" She knew she was mumbling behind her hand, and that someone somewhere might be concerned that doing that might be considered bad manners, but she was more concerned about not joining in on Mokuba's little sick party. He nodded, looking exceptionally pale. "Let me see your mobile," Amane said, a thought striking her.

"What..? Why?"

"Just let me see it." She swiped the small, high tech and obviously expensive device from his outstretched palm, and navigated through the contacts, searching for a home telephone number or a number filed under Mum or Dad. There was no home, no Mum or Dad or In Case of Emergency. Nothing that was obviously an emergency contact person. His contact list was fairly small, though Amane did notice a few familiar names. "Who do I need to call?" She felt a little desperate for a distraction from the sick puddle at her feet.

Then the ambulance arrived, lights flashing and sirens blaring. The paramedics quickly assessed the injured Mokuba, and then loaded him onto the stretcher. Feeling obligated to see that he was properly cared for, Amane told the driver that she would like to go with to the hospital. After the stretcher was secured within the ambulance, Amane turned to look back at Mokuba. "Who do I call?"

"Call Seto."

* * *

_I never should have taken an eight o'clock class on a Monday morning..._

Ryou sat squashed into his seat on the crowded train, trying his best to hold himself away from the obnoxious man in a suit who was gesticulating wildly with his left hand while holding his cell phone. Ryou leaned his head back against the chilly glass of the window, trying his best to stay out of the path of the man's unnecessary gestures. He had barely slept the night before, and his eight o'clock Monday morning class (which, with a dismayed glance at his watch, he realized he was likely going to be late for) had never seemed like a worse idea than the moment he stepped outside into the freshly fallen snow half an hour earlier. His mind still bogged down with the gruesome images of his most recent nightmare (not to mention his argument with Yuugi), Ryou had sluggishly dragged himself in the direction of the coffee shop he passed on the way to the train station. Sadly, just as it was his turn to order, his frantic search through his pockets lead to the realization that he had forgotten his wallet. His morning had only gotten worse as he realized in his search for his wallet, he'd left the paper he'd promised to proofread and edit for Malik sitting on his desk, meaning he'd had to run back to his apartment. This in turn meant he had missed his usual train, and he had no time to grab coffee before class.

And now, miserably crammed into rush hour traffic of business suits and school children with the overzealous man carrying on about photocopies, Ryou was going to be late to class. Normally in the event of such a realization, he would text Yuugi, with whom he shared this class, and ask him to take notes for the time he would miss. But he had a feeling that Yuugi would probably not take too kindly to his request after the previous night... Assuming the other boy went to class at all.

Ryou absently chewed his left thumb nail, wincing when he tore a hunk of skin away with the nail.

He wondered idly if that might be somehow related to karma. Allowing his mind to wander back to his fight with Yuugi last night, Ryou flushed with shame over his behavior. Certainly some part of the universe was laughing at him, and his horrific start to his day was confirmation of coming cosmic punishment. _Damn it._

Ryou bit his lip, admitting to himself that he had most certainly been an ass the night before. Sure, Yuugi was obviously not dealing with his problems in a healthy or mature way. But who the hell was _he_ to talk? Ryou avoided _his_ problems like his life depended on it, and stubbornly refused to acknowledge the possibility that he couldn't make the Thief go away by ignoring him. That talking to... that talking to _Bakura_ about their issues might help resolve them...

How could he tell Yuugi that talking with Atemu was the only way to fix things, when he steadfastly refused to take his own advice? When the idea very idea of calling the Thief up for an adult discussion made his blood boil? Where the hell did he even get off saying these things?

_Hypocrite._

As much as he wanted to rationalize things to himself, swear up and down that what the Thief had done was unforgivable, as tempting at those thoughts were... Ryou couldn't commit himself to this idea and then turn around and practically order his friend to do the opposite. If he wanted to preach to Yuugi, he'd have to take his own advice or keep his mouth shut. Ryou wasn't sure which would be worse...

The train came to a halt, and Ryou joined into the frantic pushing and shoving as others his age scrambled toward the exits. As he walked swiftly down the street, Ryou told himself that if he did not see Yuugi in class, he would call him immediately after to apologize. Maybe this was fueled by a realization that _he may very well have been wrong_ (as much as he hated to admit it) or perhaps it was the old fear, lurking in the back of his mind, that eventually his friends would tire of him. Shaking himself out of these thoughts, Ryou renewed his determination. He would do his best to fix things.

He had to.

* * *

Upon her arrival at the hospital, Amane was shooed out of the room where they'd taken Mokuba, with assurance from the various medical personnel that they would fetch her as soon as they could. After at least an hour of useless pacing and debating, Amane informed one of the people in scrubs scurrying to and from the room they'd taken Mokuba into that she had a phone call to make and slipped outside.

Shaking, pale fingers flipped quickly through Mokuba's tiny contact list, and selected the name reading "Seto." The dial tone sounded, and she felt her stomach do a nervous flip. _Nobody wants to be the bearer of bad news..._ After barely two rings, a voice on the other end picked up. "Mokuba, where the hell are you? You were supposed to meet me over an hour ago."

_Sounds young..._ Amane mused, grappling with her suddenly absent oratory skills as she attempted to stumble through an introduction of sorts. "Uh... Hello. Is this, er- is this Seto?"

A beat.

"Who the hell are you? And how did you get my brother's phone?"

Amane bit back a nervous laugh, knowing it was vastly inappropriate at the time. "I'm Amane Bakura... and you don't care about that, obviously. Right, the thing is... Mokuba is in the hospital."

Silence.

"H-hello?"

"I'm here," The response was gruff, startling. "What hospital?"

Amane answered him, and got a dial tone in response. _No good deed..._

As she waited around the waiting area, clutching another person's phone and wallet, and paging through an outdated fashion magazine, Amane wondered how her day would have progressed if she had simply gone back to sleep laying beside Malik. The thought seemed comforting to her, sitting in an overly sterile environment with a splitting headache and a mind swimming through an original symphony she'd written and titled _Variations on Concern._ Nobody had arrived claiming to be the mysterious Seto yet, and she'd only received one update on Mokuba's condition (stable, taking him to have scans taken). She drummed her fingernails on her knee, though the movement seemed to require an obscene amount of energy.

Her pocket buzzed.

Specifically, her mobile buzzed from insider her pocket. Reading the number flashing across the screen, she ignored the call. _Not now, thank you very much._

An hour passed sickeningly slowly, and the girl was beginning to think watching paint dry would be more enjoyable.

And then, a commotion. Amane watched from across the lobby as a man with brown hair dressed in an... unusual jacket which appeared to defy gravity rush in through the doors. After a heated exchange with the woman behind the reception area's desk (which involved a lot of pointing and arm flailing, though Amane couldn't hear what was said), the man stalked over to the waiting area. He looked incredibly tense, and chose the only open seat, which so happened to be beside her. His arms were wound into a knot that she'd attempted to learn back in Girl Scout days, and his foot tapped an irritable cadence on the linoleum. After a few furtive glances her way, the man opened his mouth, but said nothing.

"Would you happen to be Seto by any chance?" Amane heard herself asking, words rushed and almost panicked. "Because I'm waiting for someone called Seto because his... brother, I think... I took him to this hospital. Well, really, I called for the ambulance which took him to the hospital and you look like..."

He was staring at her, openly, blue eyes held open in perfect circles of shock.

"...Like you've no idea what I'm going on about so I'll just shut up," Amane finished, apologetic. She trained her eyes on the worn pair of trainers on her feet, hoping that the floor would open a wide mouth and swallow her whole. _Antisocial, I'm antisocial. People make me uncomfortable; tense people make me damn near suicidal._

A moment passed, and Amane felt her face heat with embarrassment. _Damn damn damn damn..._

"I am Seto Kaiba," The man said finally. "You found my brother?"

"Yes!" Amane practically squeaked, mentally berating herself for her complete lack of ability to handle stress of any kind. "I did. I'm no expert, but I think he ought to be alright. Had a fair number of head injuries myself... not that I know his head was injured, that's just what it..." She paused, attempting to collect herself. "I'm Amane Bakura. I called you from Mokuba's phone. These are your brother's things," She handed the wallet and cellular phone to Kaiba, "And I think I'll just go step outside before you choose to act on that look in your eyes which says you'd quite like to murder me in cold blood for dithering like a fool when you're obviously not interested in anything I have to say..." Amane all but sprinted from the waiting area, and didn't slow down until she reached the doors leading outside. Stepping to the side of the building, Amane fumbled through her pockets and produced a worn looking pack of cigarettes and a lighter. She lit it (after several attempts with her shaking fingers, one of which where she actually managed to light a few strands of hair on fire) and inhaled with a sort of desperation that made her idly wonder just how addicted to the cigarette between her fingers she was. _Nervous habit, you stupid bint. Stupid habit, stupid girl. _Goodness, her grandmother's voice in her head got so much worse on days like these... She leaned back against the cold brick wall, trying to think _calm._

Once she found it possible to breathe without some kind of painful hitch, Amane managed to fish her mobile out of her jacket pocket. Bursts of foggy mist and smoke mingled together as they escaped from her lips, and she dialed her brother's number, figuring that he would probably be able to help her navigate herself back toward his from this hospital which was making her especially twitchy with nerves.

"Hello?"

"Hey Ryou!" Amane squeaked, and slid down the wall in mortification at the sound of her own voice. She cleared her throat. "I hope I didn't catch you at a bad time or anything."

"No, I'm just walking out of class actually," Her brother replied, seemingly unaffected by his sister's strangeness. "What's up?"

"Well... I require some assistance navigating," Amane said with a nervy little chuckle. "You see, I'm at a hospital-"

"WHAT?!"

"-and I don't know how to find my way back to yours," Amane finished lamely. "I'm fine; _don't panic_. No injuries or anything, I promise." She quickly summarized stumbling upon Mokuba and accompanying him to the hospital. "In any case, I'm not sure where exactly I am." She supplied the name of the hospital at his request, glancing up in the glaring sunlight at the side of the building.

"Well, I'm actually not too far from there," Ryou said, "I could probably be there in about ten or fifteen minutes?"

"You're a lifesaver."

"I do what I can. See you in a few, alright?"

"Yeah, thanks!"

Amane ended the call, and she turned to resume leaning moodily against the brick of the building. She jumped nearly a foot in the air to after discovering the very same distressed Seto Kaiba from the waiting room had taken up her space. "Sorry," Amane mumbled, shoving her cigarette back between her lips and averting her eyes from the man. Of course she took this time to recall that her hair hadn't been brushed and was probably standing at a every and all angles, only adding to the spectacle she was making of herself. She glanced skyward, waiting for a cartoon anvil to at least knock her momentarily unconscious. No such luck.

"What I am about to ask can never be repeated to anyone, especially if they've got a camera slung around their neck," Kaiba almost growled, causing Amane to twitch uncomfortably. "But could I bum a smoke?"

Blinking in surprise, Amane dug into her damn near bottomless jacket pocket for the crumpled packet. "S-sure." Wordlessly, she handed one to her unlikely companion, and even lit it for him after he placed it in his mouth.

"Thank you," Kaiba said on the exhale.

She nodded. For a moment, Amane was able to notice that his professional suit and tie routine was cleverly disguising a boy not much older than herself. She felt stupid for not having actually said anything intelligent to him before this moment now that he stood beside her. He was probably have small heart attacks every time a person in scrubs passed by, and here she was just staring at him like he was some sort of celebrity to be ogled. "I'm really sorry about what happened." Flat, nothing impressive, but the words got her point across easily enough.

"It wasn't your fault," He snapped back, brilliant blue eyes flashing almost dangerously.

"I know," Amane said, her voice calmer than she felt. "I've been the one in the accident, you know. That is scary as hell, especially if you're alone. He's lucky to have you around for him." Amane had no idea where that had come from, or why on earth she had decided to volunteer this information. But she watched as Kaiba seemed to relax ever so slightly, dragging on his cigarette.

"Thanks." It was his turn to mumble uncomfortably. "And thank you for getting him here so quickly."

Amane waved him off, "It wasn't something to think about. No need to thank me." She dropped her cigarette to the ground and stubbed it out with the toe of her worn sneakers. "Have you heard anything?"

"Nothing more than he broke his clavicle and dislocated a shoulder. They're taking a few more scans..."

"I'm sure he'll be okay."

"Hm." He reached into his jacket pocket with his cigarette free hand, and he produced small pad. "How much do you want, then?"

"What?" Amane yelp, taken thoroughly by surprise. "I don't-"

"You're sticking around, acting all concerned about a stranger," Kaiba ground out through clenched teeth, "You know who I am, and you obviously need the money. So, name your price and you can be on your way."

Her jaw dropped. Amane was undeniably _offended_ by his assumption. "Look, I don't want any of you damn money."

He quirked a quizzical eyebrow at her defiant stance, obviously not buying a words she said. He dated the check, "I'm not going higher than a few thousand. All you really did was make a phone call."

"I don't want your bloody money!" She huffed. "Maybe the thought never crossed your mind, but I was merely trying to be a decent human I can understand how that might confuse you, since apparently your brother's life is only worth a couple thousand to you!"

The brunet opened his mouth to retort when their conversation was interrupted.

"There you are, Amane!" Ryou's voice broke the tense moment, "I was looking over on the other side..." He trailed off, apparently noticing that they weren't alone. "Hello Kaiba," Ryou said kindly, "How is your brother doing?"

"He's fine," Kaiba muttered, looking almost embarrassed. He dropped the cigarette to the ground and stepped it out. He shot a meaningful look at Amane, still obviously seething at her words. After a moment, he put the checkbook back into his pocket and produced small card. "Here," he muttered, shoving it into her hand. "Call this number, leave you contact information. I'll be in touch, and we can work something out."

Amane stared open mouthed after the tall man as he stalked back inside.

"What was that all about?" Ryou asked, clearly out of the loop.

"I _think_ Seto Kaiba thinks he owes me a favor..." She said vaguely, tucking the business card with his office number into the pocket of her jeans.

* * *

Bakura shook his head wearily, trying in vain to dispel the ceaseless dizziness he had acquired since waking this morning. Through his headset he could hear the tinny voice of an unhappy old woman, barking at him about the number of phone calls she received daily and how he had managed to interrupt her soap operas. Somewhere around the fifth time she called him a "worthless, lowlife freeloading child," Bakura broke protocol and simply ended the conversation with the click of his mouse. The dim light from his screen was giving him an even bigger headache, and his stomach churned uncomfortably at the sound of a brand new dial tone. Hitting "end" before the first ring could trill, Bakura decided now was as good a time as any to take a break from the monotony of calling. Rubbing his eyes, which ached with his lack of sleep, Bakura gingerly removed his headset, careful to avoid upsetting his bandaged finger. Slowly, head pounding and mind swimming so much he felt seasick, Bakura stood. He intended to walk to the break room and perhaps get a cup of coffee when he suddenly lost his feet. He saw red for a moment, then nothing.

...

_Splash._

Bakura came to, sputtering and coughing as something cold and wet hit his face. "What the hell-?"

"You passed out," A high pitched, almost piercing voice echoed from above him. Sitting up slowly, Bakura looked up at the nameless female intern who worked as a gopher for the supervisor of his floor hovering over him, a half empty water bottle clenched in her tiny hand. "It was so scary, you just keeled over..." She put one of her fingers into her mouth, loudly chewing her fingernail.

In his disoriented state, Bakura immediately thought of Ryou's awful nail biting habit and suddenly before he could stop his the name was on his lips. "Ryou," he muttered, though the name came out as little more than a grown.

"What?"

"Nothing," He waved her off, trying to sit up.

"I think you're sick," The little intern announced, pale little face still swimming worriedly before his eyes. "You ought to go home."

"No." Clear as a bell, that one. He sat ramrod straight then. He didn't want to go home, didn't have one here, couldn't go back because everything was a mess back there...

"Yes, you are," Came the stern voice that likely belonged to the supervisor he never interacted with. "Immediately."

"Keh," He muttered, no fight really left in him despite his trepidation about leaving. He forced himself unsteadily to his feet and attempted unsuccessfully to teeter toward the nearest exit without another word.

"Not so fast," His supervisor practically shouted. It rang in his ears painfully. "Do you have anyone we can call to come and collect you?"

"No," Bakura answered quietly. Who'd want to collect him? He didn't belong to anyone.

"Take the car make sure he gets home," The supervisor said quietly to her intern, looking strangely over at Bakura as he stood awkwardly in the doorway.

A moment to two later, the young intern had gripped Bakura's elbow and was leading him down the step of the building where he worked. He allowed this only because her tiny hand seemed to be the only thing anchoring him onto the world at that point, and because everything was spinning nauseatingly. "This one," She said quietly, pulling open the door to a blue car he had never seen before. He managed to amble his way into the front seat, his limbs feeling leaden and out of his immediate control. Moments after the pair hit the road, a thought occurred to Bakura when the expected questions about direction never came. "How do you know where I live?"

"I looked it up in your personal file," The intern admitted shyly. "Are you sure you're alright? I feel like you should maybe go to the hospital. You smacked your head pretty hard..."

"I'm fine," He snapped, knocking himself into a moment of painful clarity.

"You're bleeding," She whispered, looking pale and terrified suddenly.

"I'm fine," Bakura repeated, elevating his left hand and inspecting the tiny trickle of escaping blood. "Just a broken scab." No new damage. Nothing to really worry about.

"If you're sure," She murmured, obviously not planning to argue. They sat at a traffic light then, awkward silence consuming the automobile. "Why don't you ever talk around the office?"

"I do plenty of talking if you pay attention," Bakura growled, shaking his head at the girl's idiocy (and regretting it immediately).

"I mean to other people in the office," The intern clarified, earnest tone persisting. "Most of us are nice enough."

"Meh." Bakura's response was rather eloquent, if you asked him, because his head was spinning like a top. Everything seemed to make the spinning worse, so he trained his eyes to the floor and prayed that he didn't do something mortifying like throw up or pass out again.

"Most people would probably even like you," The intern pressed on. She coughed quietly, and the car came to a halt. "We're here."

"Oh," Bakura said, glancing out the windshield. They were indeed outside of his building. He opened the car door, planning to go inside and forget this day.

"I'm coming with you," He announced in that high little voice of hers. "Just to make sure you make it up okay."

"I'll be fine," Bakura muttered, completely mortified at the turn this had taken. This kid was seriously going to get murdered if she didn't stop laying it on so thick. His head spun violently again, and he almost laughed out because he realized that Malik would positively die if he'd heard that Bakura had accidentally taken some girl from work home with him. "I'm fine. You should go."

She stared at him, and Bakura knew this was a battle best left untouched. He lead her into his building, and ignored the way his face grew hotter and hotter the closer she drew to him at his doorstep. "Okay, I made it up here fine. I'm not dying. Please leave."

"I want to come inside," The girl said quietly.

"No." He walked in and quickly shut the door behind him.

Not quickly enough, however, because the shoved her foot in between the door and the frame. This was incredibly embarrassing. "I just want to make sure you lie down or something. Promise."

"Just go," Bakura said, his voice almost pleading. His head was pounding and he was freezing and everything was revolving uncomfortably. The intern gave him a baleful look, and tapped her foot on the ground. He slowly made his way to his couch and sat. "I'm sitting. That's all you're getting. Are you happy now?"

She rolled her eyes, but then smiled brightly. "I hope you feel better."

"Whatever."

"See you at work!" She turned and left. He heard the lock click as the door swung closed, though he had no idea how she'd gotten his keys, but then he leaned back on his lumpy sofa and was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

* * *

Ryou and Amane were walking swiftly, heads bowed in the icy wind that had picked up rather suddenly, traveling in the direction of the nearest train station. They're idle conversation had slowly halted as the wind picked up, and their teeth started to chatter.

After a few moments of silence, something apparently caught Ryou's sister's attention. She looked up at one of the older buildings ahead of them, questions popping behind her eyes. "Say, isn't that Bakura's building?" The tone seemed casual enough, but there was a suspicion in her voice.

Ryou nodded, frowning. The only unfortunate thing about the placement of the Domino University campus was its proximity to the Thief's apartment. Despite coming within feet of his building every day for a year, Ryou had never run into Bakura in passing. In fact, were it not for the strange sixth sense Ryou had for the Thief, he would have almost begun to think that the other man had simply disappeared... until, like always, he reappeared.

Looking back up toward the building, Ryou's mouth dropped open. The Thief stepped out of the passenger side of a royal blue car, wearing an outfit that Ryou recalled tossing to the floor only a few nights ago. The boy halted immediately and ducked into the alley of the building next door, dragging Amane with him. "What the hell are you doing?" his sister demanded, forcibly shoving his hands from her.

"Look," Ryou pointed at Bakura's sudden appearance, and the pair of siblings fell silent as they watched what happened next.

Out of the driver's side stepped a young woman, maybe twenty years old, dressed in a gray blouse and a navy skirt. Her hair was pulled up in a tight ponytail; very professional looking. With a frown, she gestured toward the building, and after some hesitation the pair walked toward the building's front door.

"Hmm," Amane said, mock amazement dripping from the sound, "How awful, he's getting laid. Come on." She grabbed hold of Ryou's jacket sleeve, dragging him out of the alley.

"What if he hurts her?" Ryou demanded, eyes wide and face pleading.

Amane rolled her eyes, "You're being ridiculous."

"I am not," He protested, frowning. "He has no reason to have some girl up there. I think he could hurt her, and I want to make sure he doesn't."

"And we're supposed to what? Waltz in and say, 'Hey, 'Kura, just dropping in to make sure you haven't made any human sacrifices lately'? _Are you mental?_" Amane still looked at him disbelievingly.

"No, I just... I want to make sure..."

"Alright, fine, but I want to watch this one blow up in your face," She said, crossing her arms over her chest. Amane looked down her nose at her brother, tapping her foot when he made no effort to move. "Come _on._"

"Alright, alright," Ryou said, beginning to shuffle toward the mouth of the Thief's building.

"Well, what's the plan, Paranoia?" Amane asked, a strange grin overtaking her face. "Are we bursting in, guns-a-blazing? Or just knocking politely and hoping he doesn't answer with a meat cleaver in hand?"

"Shut up," Ryou said, frowning at the buzzer system outside the building's door. The last time he'd been to the building, someone had propped the front door open. "Shit..."

"Oh, here," Amane said, pressing her hand against all of the buzzer buttons. "Somebody will _have _to buzz us in." Ryou stared on, doubtful of this fact, when a buzz sounded and the lock clicked open. "Told you." Amane grinned smugly.

Ryou shook his head, following his sister inside the building. Now that they were inside, Ryou was at a loss for what they were supposed to do. He knew they ought to move quickly if the woman _was_ in any kind of danger, but he wasn't sure what sort of approach they should use. He wasted at least five minutes trying to decide, while his sister examined her fingernails and arranged and rearranged her long hair. "Alright, I think we ought to go up there and check."

With a roll of her eyes and a shake of her head, Amane took the lead, causing her brother to trail behind her for the better part of three flights. As they arrived on the landing of the third floor, the woman from the car appeared to them, frowning and looking over her shoulder as she did. The girl cast a polite smile in their direction, and hurried off down the stairs.

"Well," Amane said, hands on her hips, "Looks like she made it out alive. Crisis averted. Can we go home?"

But there was something nagging at Ryou, and he shook his head. "I still think we ought to check it out."

Amane let out a noise of exasperation. "You are certainly fixated on the goings on of his life..."

"It's the middle of the morning, he shouldn't be home already," Ryou snapped, frustrated with himself. There was just something telling him he had to go in there, had to see what was behind the door, had to know why he had this nagging feeling in the back of his mind that something wasn't right. "He's up to something..."

"Obviously the sign of a heinous murder plot, being home in the morning," Amane remarked, dryly. Ryou shot her a nasty look, and she sighed heavily. "It's probably nothing. Maybe he fancied a nap or a sandwich? Maybe he prefers plotting world domination on his couch in his boxers? Whatever the reason, it's none of your business so can we please get out of here?"

"I think we ought to at least check," Ryou murmured.

"Alright," Amane said, dragging her sneakered feet over to the Thief's door, and lifted her arm to knock.

"No!" Ryou whispered frantically.

"Okay, we're waltzing then," Amane rolled her eyes, and gripped the doorknob tightly. It didn't budge. "...Or not. Damn, time to go."

"Shit," Ryou said with a frown. There was still this strange tugging that made him feel the need to get inside that door. He pressed his ear against the door, hoping to hear something inside.

Amane stared openly at her brother, an impish smile on her face. "Ryou, promise me you'll never take up a life of crime."

"Why?" He asked, confused.

"Because you'd be complete rubbish at it," She giggled. Ever the mature one, Ryou responded by sticking his tongue out at her.

"I could always try that knocking thing," Amane suggested with a cheeky smile. "I hear it sometimes makes people open their doors." Her brother raised his eyebrows at her, obviously not amused. "Okay, fine, I'll have to pick the lock."

"Seriously?"

"Guess so," Amane said, pulling a pin from her knotted hair and inserting it into the keyhole. After a moment of wiggling and swearing under her breath, the door opened with a satisfying click. "You'd think a thief would lock up better than this."

Ryou agreed that it seemed strange, and followed his obviously more daring sister in through the threshold. The apartment was quiet, only the muffled sounds of a neighbor's stereo coming from above disturbed the silence. The pair of white haired siblings crept through the kitchen that looked largely unused, Amane making a point to dramatically flatten herself against the wall and dramatically whip her head at even the slightest noise. Ryou rolled his eyes, and they arrived in the living room to see a pale Bakura curled up on the sofa, fast asleep.

Amane approached the Thief, and after a moment of inspection surmised, "He's out like a light." She frowned. Following her gaze, Ryou mirrored her expression at the Thief's position, which clashed heavily with his rather proud nature. He was typically so self assured, so cocky and arrogant. He would never curl into a ball and take a mid morning nap. Something was... _wrong._

With a frown Amane announced, "He's shivering."

At that, Ryou crept closer. The siblings stood above the Thief for a moment, observing the oddity that it was to see the Thief in a slightly compromising position. His skin was flushed and the forehead had a sheen of sweat. "I think he might be...sick."

Amane nodded, and turned from the room. A moment later she returned, a folded blanket draped over her arms. With a severe look at her brother, who had opened his mouth to protest, she unfolded the blanket and covered the shivering Thief with it. With a deepening frown, Amane tugged her Ryou's coat sleeve. "Come on, there's nothing to see here."

"But-"

"Come on, Ryou, let him be. You can play mortal enemies tomorrow."

With a lingering look back at the Thief, Ryou turned and followed his sister out of the apartment.

* * *

_Monday_

_"Hey, you've reached Yuugi's cell! I can't answer right now, leave me a message!"_

"Hey Yuugi, it's Ryou. Look, I just wanted to call and apologize for what I said last night. I was being really awful, and you didn't deserve that. I am really sorry, and I hope you can forgive me. Please call me when you get this."

_"The person you are calling is unavailable at the moment. Please leave a message at the tone."_

"Seriously, do you _ever _answer your fucking phone? Why do you even have one? I mean... Oh shit, I just remembered. You broke yours, didn't you? Well, I guess this message is useless. I'll have to come over then. Especially considering that a little birdy tells me you're sick, which I've taken to mean you're on your deathbed with the plague and you'll have no choice but to put up with my presence. And there will be no bitching about 'breaking and entering' or anything like that. YOU GAVE ME THE KEY FOR A REASON. Right. Useless message. Ignore me!"

Malik felt like an idiot carrying some soup in a plastic container and standing outside Bakura's door. Amane had texted him to say that, after Ryou had insisted that they check to make sure that Bakura wasn't sacrificing virgins in his spare time, she thought Bakura might be sick. Malik didn't know much about how to handle a sick person, let alone a sick Bakura, but he felt the need to check up on him anyway. Half because he cared, and half because Malik truly did not want to miss out on a opportunity to mock him later. Malik thought it might be polite to knock, but he wasn't feeling terrible polite. Instead, he inserted the key to Bakura's apartment into the lock. "Honey I'm home!" he trilled, shutting the door behind him and pocketing his keys. Always wary of having them stolen in this household.

He switched the lights on as he walked through the kitchen. Huh. No lights, no sound. He set the plastic container of soup on the counter and wondered if Bakura wasn't home as he walked into the living room and turned on the lights. But Bakura was home, curled on the sofa under a blanket. He didn't move when the lights came on, nor did he budge when Malik said his name a few times. Malik looked around the apartment, dismayed at the feeling that something just wasn't quite right in the small flat. He peeked into the bedroom, as if that might provide an answer as to why Bakura was asleep on the sofa at 7:00 at night. He found no answers, but what looked like a scrubbed out bloodstain in the old carpeting. That probably didn't bode well. He shuffled back to kitchen, peering into barren cabinets and the empty refrigerator. Nothing new there, though Malik supposed he ought to take time to instruct Bakura on the art of grocery shopping. Malik returned to the living room, supposing that the off kilter feeling was probably just because Bakura was sick. Chewing his lip for a moment, Malik shook Bakura's shoulder.

"Fuck off," Bakura mumbled, wrapping the blanket around himself more tightly.

"Good, you're fine then," Malik said with a snort. He swatted at Bakura's feet until they disappeared from the last cushion on the sofa. Malik took a seat, apparently unfazed that Bakura had shut his eyes and hid his head under the blanket. "Not feeling well, darling?"

"..."

He grabbed the remote from the coffee table and switched on the television. "Have you eaten? I brought soup, but I could order something."

"Fuck _off_, Malik," Bakura's voice rumbled from under the blanket.

"I'll take that as a no, then," He continued pleasantly enough. He reached over a hand and casually yanked the blanket away from Bakura, tossing it across the room. It should have been an immediate sign that things weren't great when instead of murdering or threatening to murder Malik, Bakura only flinched and stayed put. "Dude, are you okay?"

Bakura sat up very slowly. He was pale, even by his standards, and shivering. His eyes were bloodshot. He looked like he'd not slept in weeks, despite having been passed out when Malik go there. He pressed his lips together in a tight line.

"You look like hell." He did look a bit ghostly in the blue light from the television.

Bakura blinked. He was looking a bit green around the edges. "I-" Whatever he'd been about to say, Malik would never know, because instead of speaking he dashed off to the bathroom. Malik didn't follow, correctly predicting that the sudden dash entailed throwing up. Instead he picked up the remote again, flicking through the channels of the television while he waited for Bakura to return from the bathroom. He landed on an episode of Ninja Warrior and watched with mild interest as a contestant attempted to scale a halfpipe. When the final hollow flush of the toilet echoed through the apartment, and Bakura slowly made his way back to his place on the couch, Malik muted the television. Bakura's fringe was wet and sticking to his forehead, revealing an unpleasant looking gash above his eyebrow. Malik suspected he had splashed water on his face. "I think you need to see a doctor," Malik said conversationally.

"No."

"What did you do to yourself anyway?" Malik continued, ignoring the look Bakura was sending his way. He looked him up and down, cataloguing the unsettling look of the former thief and frowning. "You're a mess."

Bakura crossed his arms over his chest and said nothing.

"Does this mean I get to guess?"

"Not."

"Something tells me that reducing you to monosyllabic responses isn't a good sign."

"Shut up."

"Ryou and Amane broke in here earlier," Malik tried again, hoping to coax a response from the other man. It was possible that he was smiling with a sort of sick satisfaction at the idea of Bakura being bested in the one thing he was meant to be the expert in.

"Nice try, idiot." But Bakura was frowning, seeming to be puzzling out the possibility. His eyes shifted back and forth, as if he was scanning his memories. If possible, his face was even whiter. "Why the hell would they do that?" He demanded after a moment.

"Beats me."

"That didn't happen."

"I heard it from Amane. Said she picked the lock with 'disappointing ease,' and they caught your snoozing on the couch. You're losing your touch, man. I bet next you'll take up knitting and befriend the Pharaoh."

"Just... stop talking," Bakura muttered, gingerly rubbing his temples. "It would be fantastic if you would spare me your incessant chatter."

"Somebody's moody," Malik frowned. "Did you smack your head or something?"

Bakura froze. "No." He answered very quickly.

"Call me crazy, but that gash on your forehead probably didn't appear out of nowhere."

Bakura narrowed his eyes. "Shut up."

"Did you lose a fight then?" He giggled. "You're barfing, sleeping during the day, you're basically see through... You're either concussed, sick, or possessed. Which is it?"

"Will you just go?"

Malik ignored him, deciding that Bakura's thoughts on whatever was wrong with him weren't going to be terribly helpful. "So, if a girl tells you she's spent time in a psychiatric facility you... a) run b) really run or c) admire her honesty?"

"D. Get the fuck out of here."

"You know, I'm half hoping you'll pass back out so I can drag your unconscious ass to a doctor," Malik muttered caustically.

"Will you shut up about that already? I don't _need _a doctor. I need you to piss off."

"You're lucky I like you enough to take such abuse." Malik stood up, heading for the kitchen. After some intense safariing through Bakura's cabinets, he was able to locate a pot, a spoon, and a bowl. He set about reheating the soup he'd brought along. He noticed that, despite all of his protests, Bakura didn't budge from the couch. He seemed to watching Malik with mild interest. Malik supposed that was probably for the best. He didn't really want to be bodily thrown from a window anytime soon.

"You're lucky I... What's a psychiatric facility?"

Malik shrugged. "It's a nice hospital where you go if you've got a funky brain like mine." He poured the soup into the lone bowl, and stuck the spoon inside. He hurried from the kitchen and pushed the bowl into Bakura's hands. Bakura stared at it, eyes narrowed as if the soup was teaching him advanced mathematics rather than being inanimate.

Bakura gave a short nod. "And who was in one?" He set the soup aside, untouched.

"Amane." Malik frowned, crossing his arms. "You have to eat that."

Bakura rolled his eyes. "What is it with you two?"

Malik shrugged again. He figured Bakura noticed his discomfort but was either too polite (not fucking likely) or sick to ask about it again. "Will you just fucking eat that?" Bakura frowned. "Do you even _eat?_"

"Of course I do... what sort of stupid question is that?" Bakura snapped.

"I'm not sure I've ever seen you eat," Malik teased. "What, do you only feast on the blood of innocents or something?"

Bakura's face looked almost _grey_ at the mention of blood. With shaky hands, he picked up the bowl and ate, eat bite taken with a defiant look in Malik's direction.

Malik wondered distantly if this was what parenting was like.

_Tuesday_

_"You've reached Ryou. I can't get to the phone at the moment, so please leave your name and number, and I'll get back to you."_

"Ryou! Haven't seen you since Friday! Great night, right? Anyway, Yuug's been kinda down the last few days. Mentioned that the two of you had a fight or something. I'm not blaming you or nothing, but could you talk to him? He won't quit moping around the shop. Anyways, if you could try that'd be great. Thanks!"

_Wednesday_

_"Ooh, I've finally changed my outgoing. Must be doing something fabulous that is preventing me from answering. Well, it's Amane! You know that the beep is coming, so you'd best prepare to dazzle me with an entertaining message! Peace and love!"_

"Hey... It's Malik. I'm putting my bike into storage for winter in a few days, and I was wondering if you'd like to come with to say good bye. Your brother tells me you've started a campaign to marry it. Haha. Anyways... Let me know, alright?"

_"The person you are calling is unavailable at the moment. Please leave a message at the tone."_

"..."

_Thursday_

_"You've reached Ryou. I can't get to the phone at the moment, so please leave your name and number, and I'll get back to you."_

"Greetings big brother! I am out and about at the moment, but I was wondering when you got off work tonight? I'm craving some sibling bonding type of activity. God, that sounds cheesy, doesn't it? Like some kind of barmy day camp or something. No thank you. How about instead we order take away and we can go from there? Love you!"

_"Hey, you've reached Yuugi's cell! I can't answer right now, leave me a message!"_

"Yuugi, I understand if you're still upset with me. I really am sorry. Please call me back."

_"It's Malik. You know what to do."_

"Malik, it's your sister. Rishid and I will be arriving in Domino in a few weeks for one of our exhibits, as I'm _sure_ you remember me telling you ages ago. I'm just calling to ask you to please be free on the night of the twentieth, because we are dying to see you. See you soon!"

_Friday_

_"It's Malik. You know what to do."_

"I'm not sure how you got your hands on my work number, but if you ever call me there again I will take great pleasure in disemboweling you."

_Saturday_

_"You've reached Amane. I'm traipsing about abroad, so I'm far too busy to take your call. Leave it at the beep. Peace and love!"_

"Hey... it's Yuugi. We should hang out again sometime because we had a lot of fun last time and... yeah. Caaaaaaall me!"

_Sunday_

_"The person you are calling is unavailable at the moment. Please leave a message at the tone."_

"..."

Ryou hit END. What was he doing? It was just after 4:00 in the morning, and he had called again. What was he doing? Had he hoped for an answer?

Probably.

His own advice just kept ringing in his ears. He dialed again.

_"The person you are calling is unavailable at the moment. Please leave a message at the tone."_

"..."

He supposed that the missed calls would still show up on his phone.

He wasn't sure what he wanted to happen to them.

_Monday_

_"You've reached Ryou. I can't get to the phone at the moment, so please leave your name and number, and I'll get back to you."_

"Hey Ryou, it's Anzu. Look, I don't know what happened with you and Yuugi, but we're starting to get worried. Nobody has really talked to either of you in a long time, which is starting to freak me out. I'm leaving soon, and I don't want to leave things weird like this. Please call me."

_"You've reached Amane. I'm traipsing about abroad, so I'm far too busy to take your call. Leave it at the beep. Peace and love!"_

"Hello, this message is for Amane Bakura. I'm calling from Mr. Kaiba's office to confirm your lunch appointment at 12:30 tomorrow afternoon. Please return this call to confirm. Thank you."

_Tuesday_

_"The person you are calling is unavailable at the moment. Please leave a message at the tone."_

"You really never answer this thing, do you? How much money do you suppose you waste every month paying for this when you don't use it? And you've just replaced it too! Unless you haven't, which might explain why you're not answering. But I am fairly certain you've replaced it, or you'd have starved to death by now. Right, well, I haven't seen or heard from you in a few days, oh Illness Stricken One. Since I would be responsible for cleaning up your apartment should your corpse be discovered dangling from a belt or something, I figured I'd call. Just checking up on you. Making sure you're not dead or seriously ill. You aren't dead, are you? Don't make the face you're making. I know you're making it. I can see it in my mind's eye. Stop it. Ha. As much as it pains me to admit, I do worry about your sorry ass. Anyway, call me back for once or I'll be barging in within the hour. Because I have a key."

_Wednesday_

_"Hey, you've reached Yuugi's cell! I can't answer right now, leave me a message!"_

"Yuugi, please call me back. I'm getting worried. No one has heard from you in days. I know that you're angry with me, and you have every right to be. I was a jerk. A massive asshole, and I am really honestly sorry. Please just call someone and let them know if you're okay. Please?"

_Thursday_

_"You've reached Amane. I'm traipsing about abroad, so I'm far too busy to take your call. Leave it at the beep. Peace and love!"_

"Amy. You cannot keep avoiding me like this. Call me back immediately, we have a few things we must discuss."

_Friday_

_"It's Malik. You know what to do."_

"Hey Malik. It's Amane... I was wondering if you were available to give any more advice this evening. Say, around eight? I have cartoons and more problems that need solving... Let me know!"

_"Hey, you've reached Yuugi's cell! I can't answer right now, leave me a message!"_

"Seriously, Yuugi, are you alright? Nobody's heard from you, and Ryou seems to think that you hate him. What's going on? We're getting worried. Gimme a call, please?"

_Saturday_

_"It's Amane. I change my voicemail every few days. Unless you're awful, leave me a message."_

_"_Amy. Enough of this nonsense. Call me immediately; it is urgent."

_"It's Amane. I change my voicemail every few days. Unless you're awful, leave me a message."_

"Amy, this is not a joke. You've had your fun, running off to see your brother, but you need to come home. You are not well, dear, and I am very worried about you. Your doctors say you were doing poorly before you had yourself discharged, and I really do not think it is wise for you to be gallivanting about until you go back on your medications full time. I know you didn't think to refill your prescriptions before you left in such a hurry. Amy, you must come home. I am quite serious. You cannot take care of yourself, that much has always been obvious, so come home before something awful happens. We don't need a repeat of last summer, do we?

...Look, darling, I'm not faring very well. I told you I was severely ill. I don't want to make matters worse because I cannot stop wondering what in the world you are up to. I expect a return call this evening, and I will book you the first flight home."

_Sunday_

_"You've reached Ryou. I can't get to the phone at the moment, so please leave your name and number, and I'll get back to you."_

Ryou arrived back at his apartment from his typical Sunday shift at work, feeling tired and very much so ready to very little for the rest of his evening. He strode through his tiny kitchen, discovering a note from Amane saying she was with Malik and would return before it got "too late." Smiling to himself, Ryou turned to his answering machine, attention grabbed by the flashing light of a new message.

"Hey kids! I'm just calling to confirm that I will be flying in on Tuesday. I was hoping we could have dinner that night, so that we could catch up on everything. Or try to, I'm not sure that we can catch up on everything in one evening. Haha, I'm so giddy that I am rambling. I am unbelievably excited to see you both. I simply cannot wait! I'm supposed to land at around 4:00 in the afternoon, and I will call you the second I can. See you two soon!"

Ryou stared, dumbfounded, at his answer machine. He was half certain that his mind was playing tricks on him. There was certainly no other explanation for hearing his father's voice coming from the machine. Addressing him and his sister so casually, like no time had passed since they'd last seen each other. Like there was no reason but busy schedules that had kept them apart. He sounded... _excited. _Happy, Ryou realized after a minute; his father's voice sounded undeniably happy. Ryou himself could not honestly recall the last time his father had seemed happy. Not to mention, he did not truly remember the last time he'd even seen his father. And for that matter, since when was his father coming to Domino? And how, exactly, did he know Amane was even there? Even _alive_?

_What the hell?_

Ryou's confusion was not lessened in the least when he replayed the message a second and third time. Mind reeling with the implications the recording had, Ryou paced his kitchen and pressed play a fourth time when he heard the door to his apartment open. Amane and Malik's voices, chattering about something that Ryou couldn't determine from the few words his brain caught, joined in with the recorded message from his father. The pair fell silent as the words _"See you soon!"_ seemed to echo throughout the apartment. The pair of siblings locked eyes, and there was a strange, eerie silence for a moment.

"Did you know about this?" Ryou knew the words sounded more accusatory than he'd intended, but his shock seemed to be overpowering his ability to keep the emotion out of his voice. It wasn't so much that he was angry. It was that he had had no idea, which meant that somehow, someway... Amane had. She'd known.

Ryou was hurt that she'd known and that she hadn't told him.

"I can explain," Amane murmured, eyes downcast. "Just.. try not to be too angry. Pl-please... I just didn't want to upset you."

"I don't understand," Ryou said, shaking his head. "How...? Did you speak to him? Call him?"

There was silence, and Malik touched the girl's shoulder, questions in his eyes. "You didn't tell him?"

"Tell me what?" Now there was panic in his voice, Ryou realized, because those words did not normally warrant anything good. "Didn't tell me _what?_" He felt jittery, antsy, and he was starting to panic.

Eyes trained between her feet, Amane spoke to the floor below her when she finally answered. "He called. Dad. About, maybe, two weeks ago. I let the call go to your machine, because you weren't home yet, and when I realized it was him... I picked up the phone. We talked for a long time. When we hung up... When I hung up the phone, his message was gone."

Ryou blinked. "Why didn't you just tell me?"

"Because I heard what he said... the two of you practically hate each other, and there I was cocking up everything and agreeing to see him. I signed you up for it too. _And _I deleted your message! It was a lovely message too, and I ruined it. I just... I didn't want you to be upset with me, because I always ruin everything for you and now I've gone and done it anyways because I couldn't pluck up the courage and just tell you I'm so moronic that I managed to delete your answering machine message."

Ryou could not help it. He simply stared at her, watching almost awed as she threw a complete fit over a message on his machine. He only kept the stupid thing because he used it to screen his calls for bill collectors and unwanted callers... And she was practically in tears over a _message?_

"I'm sorry," Amane sputtered, pushing past Malik and rushing out of the door. It shut with a loud _slam_ that shook the room.

Ryou stared on at Malik, stunned. "I'm... not even all that upset. Just confused."

Malik nodded, his eyes rather round. "Shall we go and get her then?"

Ryou began to nod, but his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a motorcycle roaring to life. Malik's face paled in alarm, and he reached into his pocket and pulled it out again empty handed. "We were coming back here on our way to finally store my bike... She wanted to... return something of mine."

"And?"

"Looks to me like your sister's a bit of a thief," Malik sighed, resigned in a way that Ryou suspected was related to spending a lot of time with another Thief. "She's taken my keys... and from the sounds of it, my bike as well."

"Damn it."

Malik peaked out of the blinds, watching his beloved motorcycle disappear into the dark of Domino's streets. "At least she's wearing a helmet."

* * *

At the sudden sound of his door unlocking, Bakura jumped to his feet. Through the threshold stepped a skinny girl in a leather jacket, hair windswept, looking the picture of miserable. At his raised brow, she shrugged. "Awfully cute that Malik's got your spare key."

Bakura huffed some kind of unintelligible grunt. "What are you doing here, exactly?"

"Same thing you always seem to be doing," She answered, "Hiding out from my brother."

**Here's hoping the next update will be more swift! Thank you!**


	11. Chapter 11

**In a miraculous turn of events, this chapter came rather quickly. There are hints of character development and plot near the end. Promise. **

**Chapter Eleven Playlist**

1. Alone Together - Fall Out Boy

2. Well Respected Man -The Kinks

3. I Was an Island - Allison Weiss

4. Dance Anthem of the 80s -Regina Spektor

5. Navy Taxi -Kate Nash

**Chapter Eleven**

Amane stripped off her jacket and collapsed on the sofa. Bakura watched her with guarded eyes, paralyzed by the unexpectedness of her arrival. She picked up the television remote and switched the channel to a local news forecast, comfortable as you please reclining on his furniture and taking over his television. He wondered if she always made herself at home in other people's places, or if he was a special exception. Regardless, he found that on the no-longer-rare occasion that he had a visitor, people tended to do as Amane was doing then, which was take over his space with little to no regard for his feelings about it. He thought that perhaps he ought to be more perturbed than he was, as if his possessiveness over his space should override any positivity of having someone else there.

"I'm not hiding," Bakura muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. He felt his point might have been better illustrated if he wasn't presently lounging about in his sweats because after being dealt a blow by whatever illness had gripped him, he had basically decided to become a hermit until he could insure that would never _ever_ happen again. He took a seat next to her, already resigned to her presence. He watched the image on the television screen with passive interest for a moment, chewing his fingernails on his left hand. He didn't recall when he'd picked up the habit, but now he found he was constantly gnawing his fingertips raw. The exception was his still wounded pinky finger, which had healed significantly but was still a rough scab that needed to be protected with a bandage. "Why do you have Malik's keys?"

"Stole his motorbike. Needed the keys to steal the motorbike, your key is on the keyring, and so here I am."

Bakura raised his eyebrows. He was a bit impressed (not that he'd admit that). Malik was an easy target, but actually taking the bike was something he hadn't even considered. "Worth it?"

"Totally. Wish I could have seen his face," Amane said with a grin. She folded her feet up under her. "That thing gets speed. Wish I had thought to steal it earlier."

He nodded in appreciation of her spoils. "Why are you hiding from Ryou?"

Her grin disappeared. Amane shrugged, listless. "Daddy's paying us a visit, and I sort of took a colossal shit on their reunion. Way to go, me."

Bakura nodded but said nothing.

"Not going to ask how or why I did that?"

"No."

"You're markedly less friendly than you were last time I was here." She frowned, shifting her legs so that they were pulled up against her chest. "Were you just being nice to me to butter up my brother?"

Bakura raised his eyebrows. That thought hadn't really occurred to him at the time. "No."

Amane rolled her eyes. "That the only word you know how to say?"

"No." Bakura grinned. "Didn't realized I was required to be nice to people who break into my place."

"You'd think a thief would lock up better."

"You'd think," Bakura repeated frowning. He noticed this made Amane try to fight a grin. "Care to point out more of my shortcomings? Seems to be a bit of a pass time here."

"Well, your hair is atrocious," She said with a laugh.

"How so?"

"Well, if you'd bothered to comb or brush it sometime in the last thousand years, it might not look so bad."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"You're also in sweats before eight at night."

"Yes, I'm aware."

"That's a bit... sad, isn't it? Whenever I do that, it means I've already given up on the day."

Bakura opened his mouth to retort, but Amane just giggled, so he closed his lips. They were quiet, both staring awkwardly at the television. Bakura wasn't sure where to go with the conversation. She seemed like she wanted to keep talking, but he had no idea what to talk about. He wasn't terribly good with the self deprecating schtick either.

"What do you do when you're not harassing Ryou or washing your delicates, then?" She asked at length.

Bakura ignored her. _This is pretty much it. _

"Do you have any friends or...?" She trailed off, frowning. She looked a bit... _sad_. He didn't like it, but what the hell was he supposed to do about it? "I suppose you wouldn't, would you?"

Bakura ignored her again.

"D'you mind if I smoke?" He shrugged. She lit a cigarette, flicking ashes into an empty bottle she had found on the floor. She sighed on an exhale, turning her head to look at Bakura. He tried to pretend he didn't notice her watching him, keeping his eyes fixed on the television as the newscaster gave the weather report. "Are you feeling better? Malik said you were sick last week."

"I wasn't sick."

"You were definitely sick." She ashed into the bottle, frowning. "I saw you, you know. Passed out on the sofa all feverish and sickly. It might have been adorable if it hasn't been so pathetic. And even if I hadn't, Malik had to cancel on me to make sure you were breathing at one point. So you were certainly sick."

"Nope." He wasn't even going to let his brain touch any of those statements. He liked this tactic.

"Don't be a prick," Amane said dismissively. She blew smoke toward his face, and Bakura wrinkled his nose in disgust. She ignored him. "Is Malik your friend?"

Bakura opened his mouth to provide a prompt "no," but then snapped it shut. He supposed that in some ways, their relationship might be considered a friendship. He chewed his lip, recalling the way Malik would force his presence on him whenever he knew Bakura wasn't in the best place. "Sure, why not?" Bakura answered vaguely. They were quiet as the news went on to air a report on the Kaiba Corporation market performance and one on survival tips for the upcoming winter. Bakura was dreading winter. "Is Malik _your_ friend?"

"Probably. I guess." She frowned. "Hadn't given it a lot of thought."

"Hn." He'd only turned the question around to be annoying. Gods, he was bad with people. He also found it a little disconcerting that he really didn't mind having this particular person around. In fact, Bakura rather _liked_ her. He wasn't sure if it was because she'd begrudgingly won his respect by pulling a knife on him when they first met, because she was somehow attached to Ryou, or just because she didn't seem scared of him, but he kind of sort of wouldn't be opposed to maybe admitting that he liked having her around. A little.

"You know what really gets on my tits?" Her voice startled him; they hadn't spoken in a long stretch of time. This, however, only made it worse that he was so out of sorts about how to talk to her.

Bakura stared at her, uncertain what precisely the phrase "gets on my tits" meant, because he certainly hoped he wasn't supposed to interpret it literally. That was an image he could live without. "...No?"

"People are never who you make them out to be in your head. You know? Without meaning to, we're constantly projecting our feelings about a person onto that person. And it really just drives me mad." She inhaled deeply, brandishing her cigarette like a weapon as she spoke. "Like, you meet someone, and you think you've got a sense of who they are right away. Or you know someone for ages and ages, so you're positive that they act a certain way and think about things in a way that you understand. You think someone's a jerk, and you automatically assume that therefore everything they do reinforces that. But eventually you realize that this is all a lie, because people aren't really knowable that way, you know? You can't know anybody completely. They're always some part imagination to you."

Bakura's brows knitted together, considering her words. He wondered if he did that, and what it would mean were that the case. He frowned, wondering if his grudge against the Pharaoh might have colored his perception of the purple-haired freak, but dismissed this thought immediately. The Pharaoh was definitely a jerk, no doubt about that. Bakura's frown deepened as he thought about the only other people who occupied a significant space in his thoughts. He found he didn't much cherish the thought that perhaps the versions of Ryou and Malik he thought of often were only _versions_ of them that he'd created in his head. Especially Ryou. They'd shared a mind, after all. That was just disturbing, to think that his own mind was capable of overriding the truth so easily. "Are you talking about anyone specific?"

"Yes and no," Amane answered, shortly.

"...Do you... want to talk about it?" he asked, slowly.

"Nope." She dropped the still smoking cigarette butt into the bottle. She pulled out her phone, frowned, and sent a rapid fire text message before closing it. "Ryou's gonna be pissed."

"Isn't he always?"

"Is he?" She shook her head. "He never used to be. Thanks for that, by the way." Amane nudged his ribs, giving him some kind of secretive, inside-joke type of grin that Bakura didn't know how to decipher. She rolled her eyes when he didn't return the smile. "...I told Malik I was here, and that I'd give him his bike back tomorrow. Pretty sure he's with Ryou, which means that Ryou knows I'm here."

"Hn."

She played absently with a strand of her long white hair."Other than the obvious reasons, why do you think Ryou hates you so much?"

Bakura balked. "Pretty sure it was _just_ the obvious reasons..."

"You think?" She chewed her thumbnail. Bakura wondered if that was hereditary.

"I haven't really given it too much thought."

"God, really? I'd be beside myself if somebody were to hate me so much. If nothing else, I'd need to find out exactly why. I'm talking minute details, down to the last time I smiled when they had a stomachache."

Bakura fidgeted a little. "One time he mentioned that I uh... Stole his face."

"Well, that is certainly a unique complaint." Amane laughed. "Ever considered plastic surgery?"

Bakura snorted. "Yeah, right."

"Bit rough, this business between you two." She chewed her nail again. "Must make you all kinds of angry."

"Not really."

"Bull_shit_. You hate it!"

"Well, I don't _like_ it. I just... live with it."

"What, have you got some kind of martyr complex?"

"_No._ What's it to you, anyway?"

Amane shrugged. "I dunno. It just feels sort of ...wrong that you two hate each other so much."

"How so?"

She twisted her mouth back and forth. "Fuck if I know. I just have a feeling that it shouldn't be that way. It just feels off." A beat. "Want to get trashed?"

Bakura looked up, interested. "Why the hell not?"

* * *

"Heard back from her?" Ryou asked, anxiously.

"Yeah, just now. Looks like she's hanging out with Bakura." Malik laughed, eyes on his phone. Apparently this was funny now.

Ryou sputtered a string of increasingly colorful swear words, clenching his fists tightly and shutting his eyes in a childish attempt to force the situation to be different. _Just fucking sensational. _"I'm not even upset with her!"

"Well, _I_ know that. Clearly she doesn't see it that way," Malik said, rolling his eyes.

"Well what am I meant to do now?"

Malik laughed. "You expect _me_ to know?"

"You have a sister, don't you? What would you do if you were me?"

Malik shrugged. "I'd probably call Rishid and he'd end up taking care of it, if we're being honest. Perks of living on a different continent than your siblings."

"You are literally the least helpful person, Malik."

"I try."

"Fuck!"

"Try to calm down," Malik said in as calm of a voice as he could muster. Ryou could tell Malik was annoyed, but he didn't much care. "Upside is that she's fine, and she'll probably stay that way. Let her be for now, and you can talk about it tomorrow."

"But she's with..." Ryou trailed off, the memory of his own late night attempts to speak to the Thief seeming to close his throat around the words. He shuffled his feet a bit. "You really think she's fine?"

"I do."

"...With him?"

"Well, he hasn't killed me yet. She can't be much worse."

* * *

"How do people stand that guy?"

_Snip. Snip._

"You know, I've pondered that question for a few millennia, and frankly, I got nothing."

_Snip. _A large chunk of hair dropped into his lap. He picked it up, and he found it made me deliriously happy. He even laughed. Hahaha there went his hair.

"_Don't move!_" He received a sharp tap on the back of head. He frowned. That wasn't very nice. Cold fingers tugged hard at a giant knotted mass of hair near the nape of his neck. _Snip_. It was gone. Hahahahaha. "Like, I know that Anzu is obviously a person capable of choices and whatever. I'm a feminist. I get that it wasn't like he literally fucking _stole_ her away or something. I mean, she's a person, not a trading card. Obviously, if she wanted Yuugi, she'd have made that happen. Whatever. I get that. Anzu and Mighty Pharaoh Guy dating isn't the problem." She made a few savage cuts near his ear. "The problem is... The problem... I don't like him. I-I don't like how blatantly this motherfucker just doesn't notice that it is bothering someone who is meant to be his best friend that he's dating her. Erm. That he's... You know what I mean. I mean, right? No sense of social decency."

_Snip. Snip. Snip._

"Clearly." The word seemed like a struggle. Two syllables were incredibly difficult to force from his lips, like they'd forgotten a language that his brain still remembered. He was trying to fight off a grin, but alcohol often made him deliriously happy. As shitty as things were now, they'd been much worse. Alcohol saw that. It was his friend. "He... Yuugi was... drunk? I can't picture that."

_Snip._ A large hunk of silvery white hair hit the kitchen floor. Gods, that was funny. "So hilarious," Amane answered. Her words were pretty steady considering she'd polished off the last of the tequila they'd been drinking. Bakura frowned, all of his memories of the night blurring together. When had they got tequila? _Where _had they gotten tequila? Had he gone out like this? He hoped not. It was not a good look for him. "But, from the gossip among the Dream Team, the drinking hasn't been fun for him in a while."

"Damn. How tragic." Bakura chuckled. Who cared? He wasn't trying to be a good person right now. He was just trying to be a drunk person, and the image of pint sized Yuugi Mutou stumbling about in a drunken stupor often gave him a mean spirited chuckle. _Take that, Pharaoh. You aren't doing your light any favors either._

"And again, I'm not saying that this is driving Yuugi to drink. That would be stupid. Addiction is a disease and all that." Bakura had absolutely no clue what she meant by that. He had absolutely no clue what most of what Amane said meant, but she was speaking rapidly and he didn't want to look stupid and ask for an explanation. "But, could this Pharaoh guy maybe pretend for thirty seconds to actually care about this stuff? Seriously, he's prancing about like he owns _every _place _ever_ and everyone is just _dandy_ with that. Even Malik, which is annoying, but don't tell him I said that. Because I kind of... like him. Malik. Not Atemu. I don't like Atemu." She paused to take a drink out of the beer bottle on the counter. "This is especially annoying when I know how much shit was done at his word or in his name...I'm talking about Porcupine Head." Bakura might have giggled, but he would never admit that. "Like don't be so proud if you're making people miserable, dipshit. And have some fucking sense. You're supposed BFF is in love with your girlfriend and that's kosher with everyone? Seriously. Let me tell you, back home? If one of my mates was being such an uppidity twat, someone would fucking say something."

"Why don't you say something then?"

"Shut up, Bakura."

"Scared of the mean old Pharaoh?" he teased. "Or do you just not want to point out that precious Yuugi is a mess?"

"Need I remind you that I could easily jab this pair of scissors into your jugular?" She pressed the tip to his neck to demonstrate. He felt his heart speed up traitorously, blood pulsing rapidly through his veins. He wasn't _scared_ of Amane. But he wouldn't deny that it felt uncomfortable to have a death threat leveled at him with such ease.

"Huh. Malik is right. It _is_ weird to be on the receiving end of such an out of context death threat."

"Sorry. I'll work on that." Amane giggled. "Just be nice about Yuugi. Poor kid's not used to having problems. Not everyone is as lucky as you and I." _Snip. Snip. Snip._

"What makes you say I've got problems?" He wondered, blissfully unable to recall whether or not he had problems.

_Snip snip snip._

"Trust me, mate. If you're drunk with me on a weeknight, you definitely have problems."

Well, there was no arguing with that logic. "What does that mean?" he wondered out loud. "Like how you were in a hospital for a while? That kind of problems?"

"What?" She asked, sounding distracted.

"Malik said you were in a mental hospital...?" As the words were leaving his mouth, Bakura felt the strangest need to call them back, reverse time, stop himself. As he spoke, he realized this was probably not something she'd wanted him to know. It was a secret. It was only for Malik. _Shit._

"He told you?"

"It sort of came up..."

"Well what did he say?"

_Shit shit shit shitshitshit. _

"He just mentioned it."

"He had no right to tell you that." She was angry. Very angry. He could tell because she bared her teeth and clenched her fists, and then a lot of hair was cut and he found himself wondering just whose idea that had been because it suddenly seemed like a stupid one.

"If it helps, I had no idea what he was on about."

"It doesn't, actually." She was all frowny. She crossed her arms, leaning against the counter and being all frowny. "That was private."

"I realize that now, yes."

"What did he _say_?"

"Um..." Bakura was stalling, partly because he wasn't able to correctly recall what Malik had actually said and partly because he didn't know how to spin it in a way that wouldn't make Malik sound like an asshole. Or him sound like an asshole. Bakura was pretty sure if either one of them sounded like an asshole, she'd jam the scissors into his jugular (whatever that was). "He uh... said he... Admired your honesty. Or something."

"Oh." Amane was chewing her lip, a smile pulling at her lips. "He said that?"

Bakura nodded enthusiastically, because it seemed like the best plan.

"I was in a hospital, for the record," She said after a moment. Amane set down the scissors and leaned against the counter. "I'm a little... not on the sane side."

"Yeah, because I'm a prime example of sanity."

She giggled. So did he. It wasn't so bad, having her around.

* * *

When Amane hadn't returned by morning, Ryou determined that he would just have to make the trip to the Thief's place and collect her after class. He would be going past there anyway. He wasn't angry. He wasn't. He was just kind of... sad to think that she was so concerned about how he'd react. Did he seem so shallow, so quick to anger? Ryou chewed the nails of his left hand. He would just have to go to get her from the Thief's place. He repeated this plan to himself over and over on the train ride to campus as he anxiously checked his phone every few minutes, checking the time and seeing that Amane definitely hadn't called. Ryou texted her a few times, things like "I'm not upset with you" and "I'm sorry" and even finally "I will see Dad with you. It's totally fine. Please call me or text me back."

Ryou continued to go over this plan as his professor mumbled his way through an incredibly boring lecture about the symbolism in weather patterns or something that couldn't hold Ryou's attention. The term was nearly over anyways; he didn't mind terribly that he didn't have the slightest clue what was meant to be happening in the class anyway. He kept an eye out for Yuugi as the lecture trudged on, but the smaller boy appeared to have skipped again. Ryou was put out by this, wondering frantically if their argument was the cause for Yuugi's absence or if Yuugi had skipped for another reason. Like a hangover. Gods, how had he managed to make two people upset with him in such a short space of time? It was exhausting.

As Ryou left campus after his class, he felt with numb fingers for his phone. He decided to call Jounouchi as he made the walk toward the Thief's apartment, looking for someone with a younger sister who might understand his concerns about her hanging around Bakura. Plus Jou wasn't keen to join the Thief's fanclub, which was something that couldn't be said about Malik, who was Ryou's typical go to in this kind of scenario. Ryou wanted validation; Jounouchi was the perfect solution.

"Ryou! Hey man, what's up?"

"Hey Jou," he said, smiling. Jou was always pretty enthusiastic; it was kind of contagious. "I have a hypothetical situation that I'd love your opinion on."

"Sure thing, man." It sounded like he was speaking around a mouthful of food. _Typical._

"So, suppose your sister was hanging around someone you didn't approve of-"

"What?" Jou yelped, the sound muffled by whatever he was eating. Ryou heard chewing, and then after apparently swallowing, he said much more clearly, "Who has Shizuka been hanging around with? Do I need to crack some skulls?"

"Well that answers that," Ryou muttered, shaking his head. "Hypothetical, Jou. I'm not actually talking about _your_ sister. In fact, I'm... talking about mine."

"Oh, right." He was eating again. "Sorry, I'm a bit paranoid. Too many of my idiot friends want to get in her pants, and I don't trust 'em. Don't get me wrong: Shizuka's a big girl, and she can make her own decisions. But I try to watch out for her, you know? Thought I might have to kick somebody's ass. Not that I have to worry about you that way... Anyway, who is Amane hanging around with that you don't like? Not Malik right?"

"No, not Malik," Ryou said softly. "I don't have a problem with him. It's...um. She's made friends with Bakura, I think."

"What?! What's she hanging around him for?"

"Yeah, I don't really get it," Ryou mumbled. "But she was with him yesterday, and I'm not thrilled about it."

"You gotta get her to stop that. That guy is bad news."

"I _know,_" Ryou said irritably. "But how do I get her to see that?"

"Tough one." Jounouchi was quiet, aside from munching on what sounded like potato chips. "Don't say anything about it," He said finally. "In fact, ignore it if you can."

"Really? That's your sage advice for being a good brother and keeping her out of trouble? Ignore it?"

"Yep," Jounouchi agreed. "If there is one thing I have learned about having a little sister, it is that they will always want to do something more if you go out of your way to tell them not to. Tell her to stay away from a guy, she'll date him. Tell her to break up with a guy, she'll marry him just to spite you. Sisters are tricky that way. Best to tread carefully."

"Seriously? You think that all girls are really like that?" It was a genuine question; Ryou had no idea whether there was any truth in that or not. He didn't really _do_ girls. On a regular basis, he typically only saw Anzu and Shizuka, both of whom seemed totally sane.

"I only know that Shizuka is like, but I think she's fairly typical. But I dunno, I think if you don't mention a behavior that is meant to get attention, eventually they'll stop doing it."

"Isn't that sort of... manipulative?"

"Manipulation is like rule number one of dealing with your kid sister. Trust me."

"I'll give it a try."

"Hey, I've been meaning to ask: you and Yuugi made up yet?"

Ryou mumbled that no, they hadn't, despite his many attempts to call and apologise. "He won't call me back."

"What did you two even fight about anyway?"

Ryou recapped their argument; Yuugi was upset with Atemu, Ryou was upset that Yuugi thought it was okay to compare their situations.

"Yeah, the whole situation sucks," Jou said at length. "But Yuugi usually gets over things pretty quick. I'm sure it'll be fine."

Ryou had some doubts, but didn't think that voicing them would do him any good in this situation. Announcing to your friends that you doubted their friendship typically wasn't the best plan, even Ryou knew that. So he just agreed with hung up not long after, making vague plans to grab dinner or drinks over the weekend.

Ryou had arrived outside the Thief's apartment block just as he was ending the phone call. He pressed the buzzer for the Thief's apartment and waited. No answer. He tried again. Nothing. He took out his phone, and dialed Amane's number. Voicemail. He tried Bakura's number. Nothing. Frowning, he recalled Amane's tactic from a few weeks before, pressed on as many buzzers as he could fit his hand across. After a moment, the lock on the door clicked open with a "bzzz" and Ryou stepped inside. He walked as calmly as he could up the steps, chewing his lip as he tried to think of a civil opener should the Thief answer the door. Idly, he wondered if he was being a tad silly. It was a Monday morning after all. He apparently had a job. It could be that he was working. Would Amane have stayed if the Thief had left for day? He didn't doubt that she would, but considering he had never anticipated the pair of them becoming friendly, Ryou wasn't going to count out the possibility that she was still there.

Ryou stood in front of the door for a few minutes before gritting his teeth and knocking sharply.

He waited. No noise seemed to be coming from inside. Ryou knocked again. After about thirty seconds, he heard footsteps. He heard the _thunk _of the lock being turned, the metallic slide of the chain being undone, and then the door opened to reveal the most comical sight that Ryou had ever been afraid to laugh at.

Bakura was in loose fitting sweats and a blue T-shirt that he must have stolen from Ryou at some point because it read DOMINO HIGH PHYSICAL EDUCATION across the chest in block letters, and the Thief certainly had not ever attended a P.E. class in Domino. When Ryou managed to lift his head to look at the other man's face, something was missing. Specifically, the Thief was missing approximately half of his hair. It looked like it had been haphazardly chopped off by a blind man or someone in a great hurry. The majority of his white hair was much shorter, leveling off just below his chin, but pieces still hung down in awkward patches to his shoulders and down his back, and the overall effect was jagged and uneven. "What do you want?" the Thief asked dully.

Ryou responded in the only way appropriate for such a situation. He erupted into peals of laughter.

Bakura blinked, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning. "_What?_"

"What the hell happened to you?" Ryou giggled.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Bakura muttered, rearranging his arms.

"You!" Ryou answered, still giggling. "What the hell did you _do?_ You look like you really pissed off your hair stylist."

Bakura opened his mouth, probably armed with a caustic retort, but paused suddenly, jaw still hanging open. He very tentatively reached a hand up to his head, feeling his hair gingerly. His eyes went very wide as his fingers calculated the damage done to his hair, probably recalling the incident in which his hair was shorn much the same as the way a veteran recalls a horrific battle. Bakura pressed his lips together, either to suppress a laugh of his own or perhaps to counteract the instinct to whimper at the butchering of his hair. He seemed to recover after a moment, somehow managing to look haughty despite his comical appearance. "Right. So. What are you doing here?" It was possibly the most awkward sentence in the history of sentences in that moment.

Ryou giggled again. "I am... I'm looking for Amane? Malik said she was here last night, but she's not answering her phone."

"Oh. Um. Yeah, she's here." Bakura held the door open a little wider, stepping out of the threshold so that Ryou could come inside. Ryou noticed his head hanging a bit, as if embarrassed. Could someone so insane and evil be embarrassed by a bad haircut? "Are you coming, or do I need to fetch her while you linger awkwardly in my hallway?"

Ryou rolled his eyes, and followed Bakura inside. As they walked through the kitchen, Ryou noticed a poorly swept up pile of white hair on the floor. The table was littered with empty bottles, and several massacred limes. "You kids have fun last night?" Ryou asked in a forced cheerful voice. He was taking Jou's advice; if he threw a fit, Amane would come back again and again just because she knew he didn't want her to.

"Um..." Bakura turned and stared at Ryou, eyes narrowed in suspicion. It only made his ridiculous hair look more ridiculous. "Are you _high?_"

"No," Ryou said, smiling pleasantly. "Are you?"

Bakura stopped again, mouth opening and closing a few times. "She's in there," he said stiffly, pointing to the small bedroom. He hurried off to the bathroom, probably to inspect the damage to his image.

Ryou shook his head. He should try to this tactic more often; the results were super amusing. He knocked on the bedroom door. Inside he heard a muffled "piss off!" Ryou shook his head, trying again. "What?!" Amane shouted, wrenching the door open. Her white hair was thankfully all still attached, though it looked as if woodland creatures had spent the evening nesting in it. She was still wearing her outfit from the previous day, and her eyes were a bit glassy and unfocused. "Oh. Shit. Hi."

"Hi," Ryou echoed, trying to keep from defaulting into awkwardness. Might as well be direct. "I'm not angry with you. Just so you know."

"Oh. You're... not?"

"Nope." Ryou tried to give his sister a winning smile. Even if he had been, Amane was rather difficult to stay mad at.

"You're sure...? I mean, I kind of... lied."

"I know." Ryou shrugged. "I mean, I'm not exactly thrilled to see dad, and I would have rather you just told me upfront. But you should definitely see him, and I want to be there for that. So it's fine. Really."

"Thanks," She mumbled. "Sorry I, like, freaked out."

"It's okay. I'm actually heading home now. Thought I'd see if you wanted to come with me? We could give dad a call later to nail down our plans for while he is here?"

Amane wrapped her arms around herself, as if she was feeling very uncomfortable. Ryou wondered if she would have preferred that he'd been angry. "I have to return Malik's bike..."

"I'm sure he wouldn't mind picking it up here. He's got class soon, I think."

Amane nodded. "Let me text him..." She turned around, hunting through the twisted duvet for her mobile. Ryou leaned against the doorjamb, resisting the urge to ask about the previous night's sleeping arrangements. Gods, if she was _sleeping _with the Thief... He might reconsider his stance on murder. There was no universe where he'd be alright with that. "Jesus Christ, I _know _better than to do tequila shots."

"Not feeling well?"

"Understatement of the decade," She muttered, carding a hand through her hair. She froze midway through the action, fingers caught in her white tangles, doe eyes suddenly looking up toward Ryou, face blank with what could only be described as fear. She looked terrified. "...What does his hair look like?" she whispered.

Ryou felt his lips twitch upwards in a smile. "It's... it's not good."

"Christ," She said faintly, clutching her mobile phone to her chest. "Is this what it feels like to be in a horror movie? Jesus, fuck, he's going to _murder _me."

"Oh, that seems-"

"What the fuck did you do to me?!" It was perhaps the most anger Ryou had heard in the Thief's voice since his return. _Oh right. You can be terrifying._

"-a bit dramatic."

* * *

"I am really really sorry," Amane said again.

It was possibly the most hilarious thing Ryou had ever seen in the past few years. Bakura appeared to be struggling between being completely furious that Amane had butchered his hair until it looked like he'd lost a fight with some hedge clippers and even more furious at himself for actually caring about his looks in front of people. Ryou had to keep fighting down spells of giggles as Amane managed to find a small hand mirror with promises to fix up the haircut as best she could, with Bakura's instruction. She was presently surveying the damage with her tongue between her teeth, concentrating hard.

Bakura for the most part only pointed and grunted, apparently mortified to the point where he could no longer use words.

"I really am sorry," Amane said again, removing a thin tendril which had hung past Bakura's shoulders with a snip of her scissors. "I really should not be allowed to suggest anything when tequila is involved." Another cut with steady hands; Ryou had to turn a laugh into a cough at the look on Bakura's face at the sound. His eyes were wide, almost frightened, flitting about with every snip of the scissors. "Though you did agree that this was brilliant idea... so."

"Shut. Up."

"Jesus, so touchy about your hair. You know it grows back, right?" She pulled on a strand from the left and one from the right, crouching down to be eye level with him to see if both pieces were even. They weren't. Amane cut the one on the left shorter by about two inches.

"Just fucking fix it, alright?"

"What, will a bad haircut ruin your street cred?"

Ryou erupted in helpless giggles again.

"Something funny, hikari?" It was said so low, so angry, but in that moment it didn't phase Ryou in the slightest. The situation was just too ridiculous.

"Sharp implement inches from your throat," Amane said conversationally, evening out the top of Bakura's unfortunate new haircut. Ryou thought the threat was hilarious. Bakura disagreed, clearly, because he crossed his arms over his chest, but said nothing. He kept rearranging his face, seemingly unable to properly display his feelings on the situation.

"What the friggen hell is going on here?"

_This is starting to look like a sitcom_. Ryou watched, disbelieving, as Malik strode inside the apartment, drinking from what appeared to be a large Christmas themed Starbucks cup, casually joining the trio in the kitchen as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He did, at least, have the good sense to look perplexed by the apparent transformation of the kitchen to a makeshift beauty parlor. Malik frowned, before finally turning to Ryou and saying, "Well... Either the pair of you have made up and are conducting the most bizarre makeover in recent history, or whatever he's done lately was worthy of that hackjob and therefore makes for a great story"

Ryou couldn't hold back his smirk. "Try option three: this pair of geniuses decided tequila is the best fuel for DIY hairdressing." Malik laughed. Bakura glowered at him. Ryou laughed again. "Knock it off or I'll start snapping pictures."

"Damn." Malik whistled in appreciation and smiling. "Where was my invite to last night's festivities?"

Amane shrugged. "Sundays are your nights off, aren't they?" She made a final cut to the last jagged piece of hair hanging down the back of Bakura's neck. The final result of his new haircut wasn't really bad, just strange and unfamiliar to Ryou.

Malik was staring at Bakura with the most perplexed look on his face. "At least the pair won't look so identical anymore." Amane shot him a look that Ryou couldn't properly interpret, and the Thief seemed to have crossed his arms into the most uncomfortable looking tight knot in history. He chewed his lower lip, puzzling over this statement. _No way the Thief's drunken logic had been to purposely differentiate between us... No way._

* * *

"I look stupid."

Ryou frowned. His sister had changed four times already, and frankly he was confused about when she'd had the time to acquire all of these clothes, let alone the funds to buy them. He was sprawled out on his twin size bed, listening to Amane fret as she got ready in the full length mirror on the back of his bedroom door. "If I tell you that you look fine, you'll say I'm lying. If I were to agree with you and say you look bad, _which you don't by the wa_y, you'd punch me. Spare me and just tell me what you want me to say?"

Amane narrowed her eyes. "Does this outfit look okay?"

"You look great," Ryou said affirmatively. She was in a nice, simple black dress. Very adult, though the same could not be said for his outfit. He was deliberately not making an effort to look nice for dinner with their father. This wasn't about him, this was about Amane, but Ryou would be damned if he put energy into his clothing choices for the evening. He wore exactly what he'd worn to class that morning: a pair of black jeans and a black cardigan over a white shirt. He didn't even bother swapping out his trainers for a nicer pair; scuffed gray Chucks were it. He wasn't making an effort, damn it.

"That what you're wearing?" Amane asked, brushing her hair, braiding it quickly, then brushing it out again. She seemed indecisive about her hair. She looked utterly frazzled, which seemed so odd to him. Amane was unflappable in the face of people like Malik and Bakura, who were equal parts intimidating and terrifying to Ryou on a good day, but the prospect of seeing their father had set her off like a nervous puppy. Ryou, in the meantime, was already wondering if he could get away with wine at dinner.

"Yep."

She looked like she might say something, but only nodded, turning back to the mirror to braid her hair again.

"Just leave it down."

"But..."

"Amane, it isn't like he's not going to love you if your hair isn't perfect." Gods, he was on edge. That was sort of _mean_.

"You're right," said Amane, dully. She untwisted the braid and brushed it out again. She peered miserably into the mirror in his bedroom."I'm being silly."

Ryou shook his head, feeling like a jerk. "No. I'm sorry. I'm not being fair. I know this is probably very nerve wracking for you... But you definitely don't need to worry. Dad is just going to be incredibly happy to see you."

* * *

"It's going to be fine."

"I think I might throw up."

Ryou grabbed Amane's cold fingers and gave her hand a squeeze. She looked at him, mutely. Her own frosty fingers squeezed back, weakly, as if she had exhausted all of her energy by worrying. She thought that maybe she had. Amane felt heavy. Exhausted. "I'm not sure I'm ready for this," She admitted, meekly.

"You'll be fine. Promise."

From the corner of her eye, Amane saw him approaching. Her father. He looked the same as she remembered; long blue hair tied in a low ponytail, glasses on his nose. He wore a suit. She always remembered him in a suit, probably because of Mummy's funeral. There was a long, tan coat draped over his arm. She gripped Ryou's hand tighter; he squeezed back just hard enough to translate his own nervousness. Two children Daddy forgot to come home to until now.

Their father must have spotted them from across the hotel lobby. A smile lit up his face, revealing lines that hadn't been there ten years before. He hurried toward them. Amane tried to make herself smile, but she couldn't manage to arrange her face correctly. It felt frozen, stuck. It wasn't a happy face. Rather, she felt her pasted on smile crumple, and to her complete mortification, Amane began to cry. Her father hurried to her, and his arms were around her, then _he _was crying. It was too much. Complete emotional overload. Emotions recovered from an unexpected failure. Restart now, y/n?

God she wanted a smoke or a pill or a line. She wanted something. This was too much. It didn't feel real. It felt artificial; she'd had dreams about this moment that had felt more genuine. Despite her tears, Amane could not pinpoint an emotion. Sadness? Relief? Where was the resentment, the anger, the hurt? Where was the unadulterated joy? The pure bliss of being reunited of being a family of being held by her Daddy which she had longed to do since she was eight and now she was eighteen and she felt everything and nothing all in this moment.

She opened her eyes, watching her brother look on. Ryou looked uncomfortable. He looked separate. She launched herself on him then, and their father took her lead, and father and daughter cried while Ryou seemed to struggle to support them and hadn't it always been like that? She felt, for a flash, a brief yet exhausting moment, that she was whole again. They could be whole again, or at least a little closer.

* * *

Ryou was idly twiddling his tea spoon in his fingers. Thus far, this dinner with the father had been sufficiently awkward, though not wholly unpleasant. Despite the tearful reunion on the hotel lobby, the whole affair had become rather unexciting. They caught up, as if their separation had been mutual. Everyone was just dancing around the topics that couldn't really be ignored, like how their father had unquestioningly swallowed the idea that Amane was dead ten years before or that he hadn't bothered to show up in Ryou's life since he was about fifteen. If you pretended that wasn't there, then they were having a lovely evening. He checked his watch, wondering if they would be asked to continue hanging around now that the dessert plates had been cleared away. Their father was talking about the exhibit he'd come into town for... Amane had asked. Ryou made a point to avoid the topic of Egypt since his father had politely inquired just what had happened to that Ring he'd been given all those years before. Ryou hadn't had the heart to tell him that it was hopefully going to be buried in a cave in Egypt somewhere for the rest of time; instead he shrugged and said it had disappeared in his things the last time he moved.

"Yes, it is rather fascinating, albeit tragic. It was as if this whole small village was wiped out in an instant. Buildings were burnt to the ground, the inhabitants ritualistically slaughtered. Not a single record of any survivors. There was practically no record of the village at all until very recently, when a document describing the sacrifice of 99 souls was found in the Valley of the Kings. Now it looks as if it might connected with the artifacts gifted to the Domino museum by the Ishtars about five years ago."

Ryou looked up sharply. "Really?"

Their father nodded enthusiastically. "Remarkable really, how much is still being uncovered about these Shadow Games. There is even a stone possessing these seven gold items... Strangely enough, one looks just like your Ring, Ryou."

"Yeah," Ryou agreed distantly. He felt very far away suddenly, words echoing in his ears. "What did you say was the name of the village?"

"I didn't. Based on the document we found, our best guess is that it was called Kul Elna."

* * *

**Please review! 3**


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

1. Tire Swing- Kimya Dawson

2. Gangsta - tUnE-yArDs

3. My Songs Know What You Did In the Dark - Fall Out Boy

4. Miss Jackson -Panic! at the Disco featuring Lolo

5. Try to Understand -Allison Weiss

It was December 23rd. Amane was waiting at a table in a rather upscale restaurant, feeling incredibly uncomfortable. She had a lunch meeting with Seto Kaiba. He had been forced to reschedule a few times for various reasons, most of which seemed to be deemed "personal" by his receptionist, but they had rescheduled their awkward meeting for a favor he didn't really owe her for today.

He was five minutes late. Amane frowned. She was meant to go to the museum with Ryou to meet with their father to go to lunch in three hours, and she had hoped to fit in some last minute Christmas shopping between the meeting and then. It was rapidly looking like she would be scrambling to buy things on Christmas Eve.

She checked her phone, wondering belatedly if she'd received another message telling her Kaiba would reschedule (probably for the New Year this time), but saw that she hadn't gotten any new messages since she last checked. Strange. She and Malik texted pretty frequently, and it was already 1:00pm. She decided to text him again, just a quick hello. Nothing terribly weighty. Just seeing how he was. The text read: "HOPE YOU'RE NOT DEAD." In all caps. Because she was cool like that.

She looked up to see that Kaiba had indeed decided to actually attend their lunch meeting. She stood awkwardly, formally shaking his hand before resuming her seat. "Nice to see you again," She said, before feeling as if she had totally put her foot in her mouth. It wasn't as if meeting someone in the emergency room was a good thing to remind them of.

He didn't smile or return the pleasantry. Once their order was placed with a very fidgety waitress, Kaiba focused his gaze on Amane. "Let's get right to it. You helped to save my brother, and I owe you. Name your price."

She frowned. "Woah, again, I _really_ do not want your money." Amane tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, narrowing her eyes. "I'm not interested in being bought off."

"Then what is it that you want? You took this meeting after all."

"Anyone ever tell you that you take things too seriously?" Amane said, shaking her head. Kaiba had the sense to look scandalized, but she carried on. "What I want isn't something I'm sure you can help me with, honestly, but I thought you might have a better idea as to how I can do it." She took a deep breath. "I want to be able to stay in Domino, but I entered on a tourist visa. I've got about a month and a half before I really need to deal with that. I'd like to get a job and stay here. I'm sure you have many employees who have made international move to work for you with an army of lawyers and peeons at your disposal, and I would simply request any assistance you might offer in the process."

"That's it? You want legal advice?"

"Well, also a job. But I'm not really expecting you to just give me one. I'm hardly qualified for anything terribly advanced. I can't have a job without the proper documents though..."

Kaiba nodded. "I'll see what I can do."

* * *

Amane was inspecting her make up in the mirror of the bathroom in a restaurant. Ryou was probably pissed that she was taking so long to get back to the table, because it meant he was alone with their father. She had noticed that their reunion had been a bit stiff. Rather awkward. Neither of them seemed willing to address it, and Amane found herself paralyzed with how to handle the situation.

She smiled when she felt her phone vibrate. She hoped it was Malik; it was so strange that she hadn't heard from him all day, and she really wanted to see if he had any level headed wisdom for her about solving this uncomfortable radio silence between her Dad and Ryou. Pulling out the phone, Amane was unhappy to see it was an unlisted number. She typically ignored these calls, but anything was better than forcing communication between the two men sitting in uncomfortable silence over Thai food, so she flipped open the phone. "Hello?"

"Looks like you've got a bit of a record."

"Excuse me?" Amane growled. "Who the fuck is this?"

"You forgot to mention the possession and distribution of narcotics charges when you asked for help earlier."

"You've background checked me? I just left like three hours ago." Kaiba. _Jesus, _he was annoying. "And what of it, anyway?"

"Well, assuming that you're clean now... I might have something for you after all."

Amane caught her own wide eyed look in the mirror. "I'm listening."

"My little brother has been indulging in some habits that I'm not particularly fond of. Naturally, I can't possibly get involved the situation without it going public. However, I think I can pay someone to take care of it for me."

"What exactly do you mean?"

"If you agree to pay off his..._suppliers_ for me, I can insure that your visa can be extended."

"How?"

"Don't ask if you don't really want to know."

Amane bit her lip, weighing her options. "When?"

"Tonight, if you can. You'll get a text with instructions."

* * *

The bell above the door tinkled as Ryou stepped into the Game Shop. It was a bit like sinking into a warm bath; the Kame Game shop was like a second home, a place where he and his friends had wasted many hours over the years, and it was undeniably warmer than the freezing December air outside.

"Sorry, we're closed... Oh!" Atemu brightened when he turned to see it was Ryou. "Hello Ryou. How are you?"

Ryou smiled wanly. He wasn't great, that much was certain. That gnawing, clawing, detail that in the history of what-the-hell-happened-while-the-Thief ran-around-with-my-body a village had been destroyed on the Pharaoh's order was eating him alive "I'm alright. How are you, Atemu?"

The former Pharaoh twisted his mouth, his brow creasing. "I've... been better, honestly."

"Trouble in paradise?" Ryou joked, because Anzu and Atemu never fought. Ever. It was like a rule that they were always, without fail, blissfully happy (much to everyone's annoyance). But there were rumblings of discontent between the pair lately.

"Something like that."

"Is Yuugi around?"

Atemu shook his head, looking troubled. There seemed to be a permanent crease between his eyes. "He's... out."

Ryou toyed with the hem of his shirt. "...Drinking?"

Atemu narrowed his eyes, fixing Ryou with an unpleasant glare. "Not sure. He didn't say before he left."

"I'm worried about him," Ryou said softly. "We... had a stupid fight, and now he won't return my calls. He's either been ditching class or avoiding me in class. I didn't even see him at our final. I feel really badly that I upset him. I just want to apologise. And I... There is something that I really need to speak with him about."

"What about?" Atemu led them to the small living room just off the back of the shop. They each took a seat on the sofa.

"Just..." Ryou frowned, supposing that Atemu could provide just as good of an answer as Yuugi would have. He was around for a while after Bakura had disappeared following Memory World. He hadn't said anything either, but he might have known something but just forgot to mention it in all the insanity. "...I have a question. About what you found out in Memory World, when I wasn't there. Well... actually it's about what happened before the first time you fought Bakura that might have been... skipped over in Memory World. Yuugi and the others filled me in on what I missed, but... I think they forgot something important."

"And what is that?"

Ryou sighed. "Nobody said anything about Kul Elna."

Atemu blanched. "How do you know about it, then? You haven't spoken with Bakura have you?" The question sounded accusatory.

"What does Bakura have to do with it?" Ryou narrowed his eyes. "And no, I haven't spoken with him. My father is an Egyptologist, and they are digging up Kul Elna these days. He told me that records they've found indicate that everyone in the village was murdered on the Pharaoh's orders. But... does it have something to do with Bakura? And... forgive me for asking this, but I have to know: did you really call for the murder of a whole village?"

"I did not!" Atemu said, his voice loud and commanding in a way that recalled many memories of Duels from Duelist Kingdom and beyond "... but my uncle did, in my father's name. That is how the Items were first created. A sacrifice of 99 souls..." Atemu explained how the birth of the Items came about. How Kul Elna was sacrificed, because the souls in the village were "evil." Ryou listened, horrified and amazed all at once."It was a village of thieve and tomb robbers. Nearly everyone was destroyed..."

"Nearly everyone?"

"Bakura escaped. Kul Elna was his village. That's why he sought revenge on me; he wished to avenge his... people."

Ryou felt like he'd socked in the stomach. His head swam with this overload of information. It hadn't been senseless. An image of Bakura's whole plot seemed to snap into alignment in his brain. It hadn't been sociopathic or greed driven or any of the things Ryou had come to believe. It was to avenge the dead. "And... no one told me?"

"What happened in Kul Elna was a tragedy, certainly. A terrible tragedy. The deaths were... regrettable. But Bakura was led astray by darkness in his pursuit of revenge. I believe, though I might not be correct, that Yuugi in the others were trying to protect you when they chose not to tell you about it. If it were me, I would have made the same choice. You had been through a great trauma, Ryou, and empathizing with the Thief would have only confused and hurt you more. Losing your other half was never going to be easy, but knowing might have made it worse. It would have been much too dangerous to allow that to be a possibility."

Ryou stared at him, horrified. "Empathy is dangerous?" He pushed a hand through his hair, disbelieving and stunned. "I am the last person on earth who would ever defend him, but really? It would be _dangerous_ to empathize with someone who lost everything because your uncle thought he didn't much care for Kul Elna? I _hate _Bakura, but feeling something about that loss isn't exactly work. It's human."

"This is precisely why they wouldn't have told you then!" Atemu insisted. "Look at how easily you've changed sides-"

"Seriously?" Ryou yelped. "I'm not _changing sides_. There are no sides here. I'm just upset that the guy who took over my body and held me hostage might have had a legitimate reason to go after you in the first place! I'm upset that none of the Dream Team thought that I deserved to be let in on that little tidbit! I'm upset that it happened at all!"

"Please, try not to be angry with me because of something Yuugi did."

Ryou started. "You're just going to let him take the fall for that, then? What about Jou, and Honda, and Ootogi? What about Malik? What about Anzu? They all knew. Why didn't any of them tell me?" He was on his feet; he was shouting. Gods, he was so blindingly angry. "And what about you? You've been back for over a year now! Why didn't you tell me then?"

Atemu faltered. "I thought it better you didn't know."

"That's not fair."

"I didn't want you falling back in with Bakura, I-"

"I was never '_in'_ with him!" Ryou cried. "It wasn't like it was with you and Yuugi! We didn't share anything. Most of the time I was locked away in my own mind, with no control or idea what was even happening. Have you assumed all along that I was helping him?"

Atemu looked uncomfortable. "I thought, perhaps-"

"Not every light ends up as someone's 'aibou,' Pharaoh," Ryou spat. "Not that it matters much now. In fact, when was the last time you and Yuugi even talked?"

Atemu's eyes flashed. "That's none of your business."

"Let me guess: He's a little miffed that you are going to New York with Anzu?" Ryou smiled angelically. The former Pharaoh took a step back, obviously frightened. "What a lovely undertaking for you, Pharaoh. Tell me, where was your consideration for him then? He's your best friend, isn't he? Your _partner_? Tell me, what kind of friend doesn't even notice that he's going out with the person his best friend has been in love with for years?"

"That's not fair, he never-"

"Of course it isn't fair! But that doesn't make it okay. You can't just expect him to be okay with everything you do anymore. You're not the hero who waltzes in and saves everyone when you're breaking his heart!"

"That's enough!" Atemu thundered. "You cannot speak to me like this!"

But Ryou was fuming, words spilling from his lips now that his anger was ignited. "You know, I can almost see why Yuugi would have said he hates you now. The way you treat him? Without some big plot to save the world, you're just like everyone else who used to walk all over him. What's worse is that you actually think you're being his friend! Gods, at least for the most part Bakura leaves me alone."

"Shut up!" Atemu shouted, leaping to his feet. He shoved Ryou to the ground, breathing heavily as he stood above him. He started to say something, probably an empty apology for losing his temper, but Ryou didn't hear anything but the blood rushing to his head.

Ryou saw red.

He got up and pounced on the Pharaoh, tackling him to the floor and landing a punch to the jaw and another right in Atemu's teeth. The former Pharaoh tried to shove him off, hitting him across the face as he did and Ryou's fist just kept making contact and Atemu was pulling at his hair grabbing at his throat scratching at his arms until Ryou came back to himself and scrambled off of him. Atemu's lip was bleeding, and his cheek and lips looked a little swollen. "I'm... Sorry, I..." He turned and ran, mind a mess, ran and ran until he was in South Domino not far from the Thief's apartment with a million and one questions for the former Spirit of the Ring.

* * *

"Malik!" Amane pounded on his door, nevermind that it was 10:45 at night. He buried his head deeper into his pillow. Nope. He didn't see people today. Just... nope. Not today. Today was a horror movie on repeat. Nope. Just going to nope right out of this one. Amane could deal with her own shit for another few hours. Amane was a big girl. She could be someone else's problem today. "Malik, are you okay? Look, I can see your lights are on! I'm worried. Are you upset with me or something?"

The walls in this place were thin. He could hear her exasperated sigh. He heard her slide down the door, leather of her jacket a whisper over the cheap wood. Half of him wanted to see how her head was leaned back, white hair static clinging to the door knob, knobby knees up around her ears. Her eyes were probably closed in frustration; maybe she was rubbing her temples. She probably looked incredibly pissed off and just as pretty.

"I'm probably about to do something stupid," She said, imploringly. Malik lifted his head, but the rest of his muscles protested. They knew better. "Also... Something's up with Ryou. I thought it was just Dad being around, but he's been twitchy. Can't just be that. Dad mentioned something about some village in Egypt, and Ryou rushed off to talk to Yuugi. So, I'm thinking that this is something might know about. And you two are friends, so if you could... Call him? Or text him. Or something...?"

Malik frowned, having a feeling he knew exactly what Ryou was asking Yuugi about. He resolved to ask tomorrow to confirm his suspicions. He wanted Egypt far from his mind tonight.

"Seriously, you're okay, right? I'm not afraid to break the damn door down."

He snorted. She couldn't do that. He kept it deadbolted, chain on, all four locks closed and then a chair shoved under the handle for good measure. He took no risks today. Today the darkness needed to stay the fuck away from him.

"...Okay, I'm going. I hope you're alright."

* * *

"Hey!"

Bakura turned; Ryou was rushing after him, looking furious. It was such a strange image, an angry Ryou marching after him in the swirling snow. Bakura turned back around, choosing not to engage. This had been going on for several blocks now. He was vaguely curious how the other boy had found him, but not enough to ask. He wasn't feeling up to a confrontation at the moment. Something was telling him not to get involved. He liked to listen to those feelings now. They were normally trustworthy feelings.

"I need to talk to you!" Ryou was saying, still trailing behind him. Bakura's brow wrinkled; since when did Ryou need anything from him? Whatever the matter was, it could not be good. "Jesus, will you just listen to me? I want to ask you... something."

_Ignore him. Ignore him. _

Ryou let out some kind of frustrated noise, halfway between a whimper and a growl. "Why didn't you tell me about Kul Elna?"

Bakura froze. _Oh gods no._

"I am talking to you!" Ryou cried, catching up to him. Bakura did not look at him. He had this strange trepidation about what he would find, and he couldn't force himself to look. He could not look. He didn't want to see. He didn't want to see what it meant to have Ryou _know_. He was never supposed to let Ryou know, he was supposed to protect him from that, somehow someway he wasn't supposed to let him know about that horror. Ryou grabbed his shoulder and forcibly turned him so they were facing each other. Bakura shoved him off immediately, continuing his journey back to his apartment, refusing to participate in this conversation."Don't you dare walk away from me! You owe me an explanation!"

"And how do you figure that?" Bakura rounded on him, a fury erupted in him that he hadn't felt in a very long time. He had grabbed Ryou by the collar and shoved him roughly against the brick of the nearest building, hand raised as if to strikes and then and... and _why had he done that_? He released Ryou quickly, hating the way fear flashed in those brown eyes. Gods, this was a mess. He took a step back. Ryou stared at him. They were only inches apart. Their breaths were visible in the freezing air, mingling due to their proximity. Bakura was still debating his motivations in his physical handling of Ryou; he'd never done that to him, not on his own at least. He'd grabbed, he'd dragged, but he had never done that. This shoving, hurting, intentional thing before. Not since he'd been back. Not since he'd been without Zorc. He'd almost hit him. Almost. Wasn't he meant to be better than this now? "How do you figure I owe you _anything_?"

Ryou shook his head, looking a bit frightened. Bakura hoped he hadn't hit it on the wall. "I-I-I... You stole my body, and you ne-never said anything... Never told me what it was all for! You never mentioned that you were going after the Pharaoh because your whole village was wiped out in his name!" He looked defiant and scared and ah there it was... Ryou was _pitying_ him under the streetlight.

"Perhaps I thought it wasn't any of your damn business."

"Like hell it wasn't! It became my business the second you came into my life. You owed me that... You should have at least _told _me. I might have he-" He stopped short, out of breath, unable to keep speaking.

"What? You might have what, _hikari_?" He said it spitefully, angrily, furiously. He threw the name he knew Ryou hated back in his face because he was angry that he knew, he was never supposed to know. It was Bakura's secret, his shame, his tragedy, and Ryou had no right to know. Ryou's eyes were downcast then. Ashamed. He was ashamed of what he had been about to say, but Bakura knew the answer all the same. _He might have helped. _"Who told you?" The fire in him had simply gone out. As fast as it had been lit, it was out, smoke, gone. Cold. Bakura's voice was cool.

"Does it matter?" Ryou sighed, because of course he knew it mattered. "My father... This exhibition he's brought to town. They've found the Items, which is... a disaster, I thought they'd been destroyed or laid to rest or..." He shifted, clenched his fists, frowned. "They know. My father and the researchers... They know about the... About what happened in Kul Elna. They've uncovered some sort of document about the massacre... They've found the ruins."

Bakura nodded. He felt disoriented. He stared at the space between their feet. They had been standing awfully close, but he couldn't make his feet move. He hadn't wanted this to happen, but now that that it had it was almost a relief. Ryou knew... and he seemed to understand, at least a little. Even if it was pity, it was... It was something. He couldn't move away though. Something was gluing him to the spot, keeping him there. He couldn't - "Is that blood?" A fat, dark drop had landed on the white of Ryou's sneaker, colors muted in the dark, but definitely blood. "Are you bleeding?"

"Oh..." Ryou held up his left hand; blood was indeed dripping from his knuckles. Not a lot. Just a thin line that dripped off the clenched fist. But definitely blood. "I guess I am."

"How did you manage that...?"

Ryou looked suddenly bashful, head ducked, biting his lip. "It's a long story."

Bakura rolled his eyes. He nodded his head toward his place. "Come on then."

"What? Why?"

"Because you're not walking around in the dark dripping blood all over Domino."

* * *

The black car came to a stop outside of Ryou's building. Amane cast a wary eye around the dark street, but no one was out and out at this time of night. She pulled her jacket closer to her body and hurried inside the car. The driver took off without a word. He handed two unmarked white envelopes back to her.

"The top one is yours."

Amane nodded, aware he couldn't see her, and pocketed the top envelope. She opened the second envelope, counting the bills wordlessly, eye going wide at the amount. This Kaiba guy clearly had deep pockets, and he wasn't afraid to throw some money at this problem.

The car slowed outside of a highrise. Amane swallowed hard, checking her text with instructions again. "Here goes."

Bakura turned toward his building. Ryou followed soundlessly. When, after a few minutes, they reached Bakura's door, Ryou lingered, brow furrowed. "I'm not going to murder you," Bakura said as he unlocked the door. Ryou still hesitated, clearly missing the joke. "Or maim you or sacrifice you to any demons. I won't force you to commit any crimes. I won't force you to do anything. Seriously. You came all the way here; I'm sure you have about a thousand questions. I'm not answering them in the hall."

Ryou followed him inside, looking supremely uncomfortable once the lights were flicked on. He took his jacket off, gingerly trying to keep his bleeding hand from bloodying his things. Bakura supposed his confrontation plan hadn't extended past the yelling. He removed his own jacket, then held out a hand to Ryou in the most exasperated way possible. "Let me see your hand."

"It's fine, really," Ryou mumbled, holding it to his chest. It looked painful and swollen. Blood dripped onto his cardigan.

"You just really enjoy being difficult, don't you?" Bakura said, annoyed. He reached out and grabbed Ryou's wrist, his right, the uninjured hand, and began tugging him toward the bathroom. Ryou let himself be led, not even protesting as Bakura sat him down on the toilet seat and demanded he look at it. Ryou held it out awkwardly, revealing that his knuckles were huge and swollen, and that there were cuts on three of the raised ridges. Bruises were starting to form near his first finger."Who'd you hit?" He asked, conversationally, dropping Ryou's wrist and scavenging in his medicine cabinet for peroxide and bandages before setting them on the countertop. Always prepared, this thief was.

"You won't believe me."

Bakura rolled his eyes. He found a clean face cloth and got it wet under the faucet in the sink. He wrung it out, and knelt before Ryou, still looking bemused. Carefully taking the hand, he began to wipe the blood away gently."Try me."

Ryou wore a strange, half proud smile as he said, "Atemu."

Bakura looked up sharply, face wrinkled skeptically. "You're joking."

"Told you that you wouldn't believe me." Ryou was frowning, watching Bakura's movements like a deer who was acutely aware of a hunter in the meadow. Skittish.

Bakura smirked, shaking his head as he ran the cloth between Ryou's fingers to wipe away the blood. He'd seen mothers do that with their children in restaurants when they made a mess of themselves with condiments. Very strange variation on a theme. This certainly wasn't ketchup. He grabbed the bottle of peroxide and poured a small amount over the scraped knuckles.

Ryou hissed in pain. "Ouch."

"Sorry." He wiped away the bubbling peroxide. He poured more on, ignoring the whine of pain that Ryou tried not to make. _For his own good, _Bakura thought sourly. He wiped the bubbling mess away again. It looked like the bleeding had stopped. It had probably stopped before. The cuts weren't very deep, but Ryou might have reopened them by moving his hand too much. "Why'd you hit him?" Bakura asked at length, reaching for the bandages. He set Ryou's hand on Ryou's knee while he opened each bandage.

"After my father told me about the... about Kul Elna-" Bakura's hand convulsed involuntarily, forming a tight fist for a brief second over the paper packaging, crushing it into a ball . It was like taking a bullet, every time Ryou said it. Ryou definitely noticed, but kept speaking "-I went to talk to Yuugi and the others. They had done their best to fill me in on what I'd missed while you were off playing in Memory World, but um... They left that part out. I wanted to know why they hadn't told me."

Bakura frowned, but said nothing. He thought he knew exactly why nobody mentioned it, but he didn't think Ryou would care much for his answer. Heaven forbid that Yuugi and the Dream Team hadn't wanted him to think badly of the precious Pharaoh. Heaven forbid the truth make Bakura sound human. He put the first plaster on Ryou's busted first knuckle.

"I thought that maybe, somehow, they didn't know. Or maybe I'd hoped... Either way, I went looking for Yuugi, but I got Atemu." Ryou shook his head. "So I asked what the hell had happened, and how it was that nobody had even told me. He got defensive, like I had accused him of something. It was like he was trying to justify it.. He wasn't defending it, exactly, but he was trying to say that it was a village of evil people and that it was regrettable. That was the word he used. Regrettable. Losing your _phone_ is regrettable, but _genocide_...? Anyway I... I got angry."

Bakura didn't look up. He put the second bandage on the second cut. He knew he couldn't meet Ryou's eye about now.

"He started saying that... that empathizing with you was 'dangerous,' and then I just got really angry."

"So you hit him?" _That_ was certainly different.

"Don't flatter yourself," Ryou snapped. Those defenses shot _right _back up. "I wasn't like... _defending _you. I hit him because he said something about my fight with Yuugi too. He said I had no right to say anything about how they weren't speaking, and that obviously I'd been hanging around you and your dark influence or some other horseshit."

"The Pharaoh and his light aren't speaking?"

"No, they've had a fight because Atemu is supposed to be going to New York with Anzu... Which, incidentally, is why Yuugi told me that he hates Atemu and spurred that whole fight we had in the first place. I threw it back in Atemu's face and, he... shoved me. Called me a liar. So I hit him. Twice. He hit me back. So I hit him again and ran off."

Bakura looked up sharply, inspecting Ryou for further damage. There was a small mark on his cheek. "He did what?"

Ryou rolled his eyes. "He pushed me. And hit me back, but only after I hit him first. It's fine."

"He _touched_ you?" And then his rage from earlier was back. Bakura was on his feet, bloody rag still in hand, poised to bolt. "That son of a bitch has no right-"

"And you do?" Ryou stood too, crossing his arms over his chest. "Or was I meant to take that lovely shove into a wall earlier to be your idea of a hug?" Bakura chose not to respond, instead flinging the bloody rag into the kitchen sink and hurriedly grabbing his jacket. Ryou was following him. "Where the hell are you going?"

"I just have a few words I'd like to say to the Pharaoh," Bakura said through clenched teeth. "Stay here."

"Um, no. I might have just gotten royally pissed off at him, but he's still my friend. You're not going over there."

"He hit you."

"I hit him first!"

"I don't care, he can't just-" He was at the door, and Ryou had closed a hand around his wrist, wrenching him back. He bodily blocked the door, spreading his arms out wide as if to say that to get through the door, Bakura would have to get through him. Bakura was fully confident that he could do exactly that, prepared to do it even, but then Ryou was shoving him back, motor-mouthing so fast that he felt like his head was spinning. "I'm not your fucking property! You cannot lose your mind and go kick his ass just because we had a fight!"

"What?!" Bakura shouted, trying to twist his arm away, get around the skinny other kid without hurting or shoving him. "I don't think you're my property! He just can't-"

"Stop! Just stop it! Are you ever going to tell me about Kul Elna?" Ryou demanded, shoving him against the wall. Bakura dropped the jacket to the floor, trying to fend off the grabbing and grasping hands with which Ryou was assaulting him and losing his grip. His light was angry again, incredibly angry, and violently so. Bakura tried to push him off, but Ryou grabbed his left hand and pinned him by the wrist to the wall, and while he was struggling, Ryou kept babbling, managing to get the other wrist and pin that to the wall. Bakura stared at him, wide eyed, struggling but trapped as Ryou carried on, "I want to know. I want to hear it from you. You promised... you said you'd answer my questions if I came here, so now you have to tell me. What exactly happened? _Why_ did it happen? Whose orders? How old were you? Did you have any family? What happened to them? Did you-"

"Stop," Bakura said weakly. "Please, just... stop." He couldn't keep up; his head was swimming much like it had those weeks ago when he'd been struck down with a sudden bout of humanity known as illness. Specifically, the flu and a concussion. Malik had eventually dragged him to the doctor when he still wasn't right several days after the incident with his knife, which now was tucked away in his sock drawer rather than on his person like it usually was. He couldn't look at it now. His head dropped warily, and Ryou paused, face all twisted like he was confused by the words.

"You can punch the Pharaoh in the mouth another night," Ryou said sourly. His face was far too close to Bakura's for comfort, a little blurry so close up.

Bakura shook his head experimentally. It did nothing to free him of the dizziness that had been brought on by the rapid fire questions Ryou was aiming at him. "Will you get off me?" He muttered, trying to twist his arms free. Ryou had an iron grip.

"Will you tell me, then?"

"_No._"

"Then I guess we're staying here."

"Gods, you are such a _brat_-"

"Why don't I get to know?" Ryou persisted, digging his fingers painfully into Bakura's wrists. His head snapped up to look at Ryou. Their eyes locked for a moment, and then Bakura tried to twist away. Ryou was prepared; his thin fingers only pressed harder, holding him fast against the wall. "Yuugi and Atemu, they know. And Malik knows. They all know, but I don't get to? We shared a _mind_-"

"You happily remind me often that taking over someone's body doesn't count as _sharing_," Bakura spat.

Ryou let out a frustrated growl, grabbing the trapped wrists and slammed them against the wall. Bakura, despite his best efforts, flinched. "Will you just tell me?"

Bakura looked away, seething that he couldn't seem to escape. His heart was hammering very loudly in his chest. He stopped struggling. Ryou still held his wrists fast. This was... awful. Ugly. It wasn't supposed to happen period, but it definitely wasn't supposed to happen like this. There couldn't be any understanding, any clarify in a moment so thick with emotion.

"Please, Bakura?"

Bakura looked up, eyes guarded, feeling stupid. He literally did not know when, if ever, Ryou had used his name. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything."

"Care to narrow that down a bit?"

Ryou sighed. "How old were you?"

Bakura faltered. He wasn't positive how old he had been anymore. That was... jarring, to say the least. At the time he had probably known to the day exactly how old he was. "...I was eight. Maybe nine. When it... happened."

"_Eight_ or nine?" Ryou repeated. He looked horrified.

"I can't remember exactly." God, it was just shameful to admit that with so much uncertainty.

"What happened to your family?" Ryou asked, still looking horrified. "Were they all...?"

"Yes." He didn't really want to hear the end of the question; it already brought pain images of his toddling little sister and his mother to the front of his mind. He didn't want to think of them now.

"And everyone else? Neighbors, friends...? Didn't anyone else...?"

"No. Just me." They locked eyes; Bakura daring him to comment, to express pity or anger or compassion by holding his gaze. Ryou just looked back. He looked, perhaps, a bit shocked. It was highly uncomfortable for Bakura, to have that reaction so up close and personal. He just wanted some space from it, physical distance at the very least. He tried to twist his wrists away again, but even in his distracted state, Ryou held firm. How people so often underestimated this kid was beginning to befuddle Bakura. "Will you let me go now?"

"Oh... right." Ryou let go of his wrists and took a step back. He was chewing his lip. "Sorry." Bakura rubbed his wrists irritably, bending to pick up his dropped jacket and fling it over a chair. His wrists were starting to bruise. Fantastic. He noticed Ryou's eyes on him the whole time as he stomped off to the living room. Ryou was following close behind, still chewing on his lip. "So that was why... The whole thing, the games and duels and challenges? Flying to Egypt, stealing the Items? You wanted to avenge your village."

He nodded once, throwing himself onto the sofa irritably. "Didn't go very well, obviously." He was joking about this now, apparently. That was a thing he was doing.

Ryou didn't smile. "And... Zorc? Who was Zorc?"

"A demon."

Ryou stared.

Bakura rolled his eyes, elaborating. "I made a deal with him. He'd help me get revenge if I collected the Items for him. He sort of... took over after I was sealed away in the Ring."

"H-he was in the Ring with you?" Ryou said faintly, his injured hand going to press flat against his chest where the Ring once rested. He took a seat beside Bakura, clearly overwhelmed enough not to mind the proximity. Bakura thought it was kind of... funny. "But I... How... Shouldn't I have _known_?" He was cradling his injured hand awkwardly to his chest now.

Bakura shrugged. "We were the same then, me and him. It was hard for _me_ to tell us apart, so it probably makes sense that you couldn't either." He stood up, heading for the kitchen.

"Wait! Where are you going?" Ryou was on his feet. "I still have questions!"

"You should ice that hand." Bakura said quietly, staring into his freezer for something he could use as a makeshift ice pack. In the back was an unopened bag of frozen peas that might have belonged to the previous tenant for all Bakura knew about them. In honesty, he could probably blame Malik. Or thank him, just in this instance. He walked back to the living room, handing the bag to Ryou, who was sitting on the sofa, expression contorted and confused. "Here."

Ryou started. "Thank you." He pressed the bag to his swollen knuckles. "Can I ask you something?"

"I thought that was what we were doing." He threw himself down on the lumpy sofa, forcing a casualness to his actions that he did not feel. He felt tense, like all of his muscles were contracting at once, rejecting his mind's insistence that he relax.

Ryou rolled his eyes. "Could you... Could you tell me about your family?"

Bakura's defenses shot straight up. His eyes narrowed. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest. He could feel the hair on the back of his neck standing up. "Why?"

Ryou's face twisted, somewhere between a frown and a thoughtful look. "You went on a three thousand year revenge plot because they were killed. Clearly you must have...?"

"Must have _what_, hikari?" There it was again, stupid word stupidly trying to stupidly piss stupid Ryou off. But Bakura felt ready to grind his teeth down to dull nubs out of anxiety. He could not wait for this conversation to end.

"You must have loved them."

It went so quiet in the room that Bakura wondered for a second if he had gone deaf. It seemed that neither of them were capable of breathing in that instant. The clock's ticking fade away, the rhythmic dripping of the leaky faucet in the kitchen seemed to have missed a beat.

"That is, if you were ever capable of that."

Bakura opened and closed his mouth, feeling like the wind had been knocked out of him. He wasn't sure that _love _had been on his mind when he set out for revenge. At least, not that he could recall. He'd been a child when the mess began, surely he must have had some shred of innocence left in him at eight or nine years old to know that he had loved his sister and mother and their village and that was why he wanted to kill the people who killed them. "Yes." The word came out hoarse. Yes he loved them. Yes, he'd loved them fiercely. Yes, he'd loved them with an almost insane fanaticism because he had been a child when they were ripped away from them and their faces had faded over time but that feeling, that protective loving jaded hurt ruined feeling that he'd failed them he'd failed and they had died and he just wanted them back never went away. Never faded as a feeling, but it warped and twisted and became hate toward the Pharaoh toward those who had destroyed those he loved. "I did."

Ryou was looking at him strangely. "Did you have... siblings, then? Or parents?"

"I had a sister. And a mother. My father had already died by the time..." It wasn't until this moment that Bakura even _remembered_ having a father. His death hadn't been one that needed avenging; he had gotten sick. He had died. Bakura had thought about him in the time that elapsed between then and now. Thousands of years clearly didn't help keep the memory up to date. "He died before the massacre."

"Who...Who looked after you? After it happened?"

Bakura shook his head.

"Oh." Ryou suddenly sounded congested. "That's terrible."

Bakura shrugged.


End file.
